


in another life

by drifting_melody



Series: (hope is) the thing with feathers [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Black Hermione Granger, Cunning Harry Potter, Dark but not Evil Harry, Familiars, Family, Female Harry Potter, Friendship, Gen, Good Slytherins, Harry Potter was Raised by Other(s), Hogwarts Inter-House Friendships, Hogwarts Inter-House Unity, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Indian Harry Potter, LGBTQ Character, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Manipulative Harry Potter, Master of Death Harry Potter, Morally Grey Harry Potter, No Bashing, Pagan Festivals, Parseltongue, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Pureblood Society (Harry Potter), Reincarnation, Ruthless Harry, Slytherins Being Slytherins, Smart Harry Potter, Twins, Well-Meaning Albus Dumbledore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:40:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 39
Words: 140,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28073343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drifting_melody/pseuds/drifting_melody
Summary: Rose Potter spent twenty-one years as the Chosen One. Reborn as Harry Potter's twin, he alone has the scar after that Samhain night. Harry knows there's something odd about his sister - she's too old, too mature, and knows far too many things she shouldn't - but he loves her anyway. He's been there for her ever since they were born, so Rose'll be damned if she lets history repeat itself.(In her past life, Hogwarts didn't unite until the very end and everyone suffered for it)(Lily Potter was willing to do anything and sacrifice everything for the safety of her family. Rose intended to do nothing less)In which not all Slytherins are evil, not all Gryffindors are good, and the Wizarding World is more than just an extension of the Muggle one.Years 1, 2 complete
Relationships: no they are children
Series: (hope is) the thing with feathers [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2140893
Comments: 581
Kudos: 1205
Collections: Legacy's Interest





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a blanket Author's Note in response to the wack action of the Canon Creator:
> 
> This fic supports trans rights. This fic supports people of color and women and queer and disabled folk too. This fic is strongly opposed to Nazis, fascism, and bullies in general. If you are upset by any of these statements, the back button is right there. The Author does not have time to debate or educate you, and frankly doesn't care to. If you keep reading and get upset by any of these stated stances, you only have yourself to blame.
> 
> If on the other hand you spot an instance of insensitivity or poorly handled representation, please leave a comment letting the Author know. If it can be fixed, it will be fixed. If it can not, the offending content will be removed. If that is not possible (unlikely but prepared for) tags will be added as appropriate. The Author is not perfect and knows this. That does not mean the Author will not be trying to be better.
> 
> (Author's note copied from Again (Let's Do) The Time Warp by BairnSidhe, with permission)

Rose should’ve known it was too good to be true.

“You didn’t really think that getting rid of the wand and stone would stop you from being Master of Death, did you?”

She was in King’s Cross purgatory again, only this time instead of meeting Dumbledore she’d found a man… thing… with dark hair and pure black eyes – no iris, no sclera, just black. It was supremely unnerving. She felt the weight of his regard despite that.

The thing shook its head, sitting on a nearby bench and patting the space next to it in a terrifyingly human way.

“Sit down,” it said, and oh fuck it couldn’t be –

“I’m Death.”

* * *

Fucking hell.

Fucking _hell._

Rose, filled with anger and frustration and confusion, screamed with everything she had. As her vision cleared, she saw her mother smiling down at her.

“She’s got your lungs,” a man said, voice tired but fond.

And oh fuck, she knew that voice, she’d summoned it with the Resurrection Stone that night she’d walked into the Forbidden Forest.

“She’s got my hair too,” Lily said proudly.

“Well I suppose it’s only fair, Harry’s got mine after all.”

(“Some things are fixed,” Death told her. “You’ve got some leeway with Fate but there are some things that _have_ to happen.”  
“Why?” She’d asked.  
“Sweetheart, I’d explode your brain if I tried to explain.”  
“You’re avoiding the question.”  
“Why yes, yes I am.”)

“Let’s hope he doesn’t get anything else of yours.”

“Excuse you, Evans, I’m an exemplary specimen of a man.”

“If you insist, darling.”

* * *

Her parents’ death was probably fixed.  


(“How do I know what’s fixed and what’s not?”  
“You don’t. You aren’t a seer, but you might be able to see the way Fate rearranges things to keep certain things the same. Some things are too important to change.”)  


But she’d be damned if she didn’t try.  


* * *

It was easier than she’d expected to be a baby.  


(“What would be the point of sending you to another universe if you spend the whole time locked up in Saint Mungo’s?”)  


Her self-control was nonexistent. The combination of her adult mind, capable of complex emotions like worry, and infant instincts, which were only meant to handle base emotions like fear and happiness, meant that Rose existed in a perpetual state of screaming. She felt quite sorry for her parents, watching them grow increasingly sleep-deprived for the first few days. On the fourth day, Lily found a recipe for the Quieting Potion, a lesser-known method of calming infants. Calming Drafts and Dreamless Sleep were too potent, and the Quieting Potion couldn’t be used too often anyway. Nonetheless, her twice-weekly doses gave her parents a much-needed reprieve, as did Sirius’ babysitting.  


In fact, Sirius proved to be a very effective babysitter. He’d been nervous and downright terrified in the beginning, and so defaulted to humor as entertainment. Lily was excellent at calming Rose and filling her with love, but Sirius was excellent at making Rose laugh. He made faces and tickled her, and a part of Rose wondered if he’d ever acted like this with Regulus. She tried not to think about that very much though, since that was an excellent way to send her into another screaming fit.  


It was lucky that Harry turned out to be Rose’s opposite. He was a gentle and well-behaved baby, only crying when they were separated. When he learned enough motor control to do more than flail his limbs, he took to holding her hand during her screaming fits. His happy gurgles and obvious affection never failed to make her heart ache with affection, pushing out the worry and fear and dread.  


She’d always been envious of Ron, of his parents and siblings and loving home. Now, for the first time she could remember, she had all three. She could watch, cradled in James’ arms, as her parents laughed and bantered and teased each other. She could feel the warmth of Harry’s hand in hers when she woke from a nightmare, eyes wide and earnest and bright. She could hear Sirius’ laughter as he held her aloft and raced through the manor, making flying noises and adding commentary, dodging James as he ran past him with Harry, doing an abrupt one-eighty when Lily emerged, looming like a vengeful goddess at her interrupted nap.  


She tried to fix each moment in her memory, because if the death of her parents and the imprisonment of Sirius were fixed events were fixed then this would be all she had of them. She needed to remember for Harry, in case she was the only one left who could. (In case they ended up in the cupboard under the stairs with only each other and the spiders for company)  


(“Important to whom?”  
“Fate, darling.”  
“Well, Fate can go fuck itself.”)  


* * *

It was agonizing to watch as events unfolded. Although she was a baby, even she noticed when they moved from Potter Manor to the cottage in Godric’s Hollow. She didn’t remember how long it took between the move, the casting of the Fidelius, and Pettigrew’s betrayal. It didn’t help that she didn’t have much of a sense of time – she knew when she and Harry had had their first birthday, but in the months between July 31st and Halloween (Samhain, she corrected, remembering) she lost track of the days.  


She tried to show her aversion to Pettigrew, but she screamed so often anyways that it was unremarked upon. When she began to speak, finally having the motor control to move her lips and tongue, her cries of “ra’ bad” and “no” were brushed off. She was a baby, after all. Anything else she tried to say – he betrays you, Death Eater, don’t trust him – came out as nothing but childish babbles.  


_This is what Death meant,_ she thought, _when he told me some things were fixed.  
_

* * *

In her past life, Dumbledore had told her that it’d been her mother’s love that had protected her. Now; watching Lily as she tore through the libraries of the Potters and Blacks and Hogwarts, stumbling into the nursery with shadows under her eyes and ink on her fingers, mumbling under her breath as she measured and cast and bled; she knew he’d been correct, but probably not in the way he’d expected.  


_The power he knows not,_ she thought ruefully. _A mother’s love._  


_And Lily Potter,_ she added, because just as not all mothers loved their children, not all mothers were forewarned of their deaths and capable and willing to delve into the Darkest, most obscure magicks to save them.  


Rose watched as her mother – her ruthless, brilliant, muggleborn mother – covered their nursery in runes and sigils. She held bonfires in the center of the room, burning sage and mugwort and mint, casting the blood of herself and James into the fire until it sparked, blazing a blinding white for three days and three nights. She chanted, in Latin and Gaelic and Celtic, until the air was heavy and thrumming with her magic and she collapsed, spent.  


“I hope I won’t need this,” she whispered, bending over their crib. She kissed first Harry, then Rose, her long red hair smelling of iron and smoke. “Daddy and I would die for you, darlings. We would gladly give up our lives, our futures, for yours. We love you both so, so much.”  


Tears dripped down her face. Lily straightened and stepped back, letting her tears mix with the runes drawn in blood on the floor.  


Samhain night, when the veil between Life and Death was at its thinnest, the nursery looked deceptively innocent. The runes had vanished, the bonfires left no scorch marks, and only the faint smell of mint in the air indicated that anything had ever happened at all.  


* * *

_  
“Not my children! Take me, kill me instead –“  
_

_“Step aside, foolish girl.”  
_

_“Not my children, not my children, please, I’ll do anything –“  
_

_“Step aside!”  
_

_“No, take me instead – “  
_

_“STEP ASIDE.”  
_

_“I WON’T!”  
_

__  
A flash of green light. A thud. And, unnoticed by Voldemort, a quiet hum of power in the air.


	2. Pre-Hogwarts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: PTSD

They grew up in Potter Manor. Sirius had to prick Harry’s thumb to get through the blood wards Lily had erected before leaving, but it was a small price to pay to avoid the Dursleys. Dumbledore had suggested them but Sirius, with Rose clinging to his shirt and Harry cradled in his arms, had staunchly (explosively) refused. The wards on Potter Manor were strong, though they still spent the first few weeks at Hogwarts while Sirius and Remus combed through the Black Library to strengthen them. Dumbledore had disapproved, but Sirius and Remus had lost so much that they were willing to sacrifice anything to keep Harry and Rose safe.  


(when they’d first moved in, the air had stank of blood)  


(people forgot that Sirius had nearly fed a schoolyard rival to a werewolf and only regretted what it would have done to Remus)  


(people forgot the attachment a werewolf had to their pack)  


(people saw the kind eyes and gentle manner, the laughter and jokes, the Gryffindor, and forgot that it took bravery to be ruthless)  


(there was nothing they would not do, no lines they would not cross to keep her and Harry safe)  


They learned and grew, isolated, and Rose watched as Sirius and Remus pulled themselves together, begged help from the portraits of Fleamont and Euphemia Potter, went through parenting books and Firewhiskey bottles in equal measure (at least in the beginning). Every Samhain left them renewed, invigorated, the memory of James and Lily’s love and thanks still crisp in their minds.  


(sometimes the silencing charms would fail, and she’d hear them sobbing)  


She and Harry got the childhood they were supposed to have (there was a glaring, empty hole in the shape of her parents that Sirius and Remus would never, could never fill). They didn't step foot outside the manor until they were five, and even then they left heavily glamoured and stuck exclusively to the muggle world. They weren't allowed in Diagon Alley until they were nine, and even that was after Aunt Andromeda had stuck Sirius' arse to his chair and angrily demanded how the hell he expected the two of them to take over the Potter Lordship one day when they'd been confined to homes and the muggle world.  


("You can't wrap them in cotton forever, Sirius! They're the Black and Potter heirs, they need to be ready!")  


It wasn’t a true childhood, not for her (she wouldn’t go near the cupboard in the kitchen), but Harry grew up happy and innocent and carefree. She’d been marked by the Dursleys in ways that hadn’t yet (might not ever) heal, but Harry was not, and Rose vowed to do everything she could to keep him safe. He was clever and mischievous, a perfect mix of their parents. He knew there was something off about her (she could see it in the way he looked at her sometimes, considering, especially once they began muggle primary school and met kids their own age) but he loved her anyway.  


She wasn’t an idiot – even if she’d never heard the exact wording of the prophecy in this universe, Harry was the one with Sowilo on his brow. They’d both been hailed as heroes, but Harry was the one who’d been marked, Harry was the one Voldemort would come for.  


(individually, they were the Boy-Who-Lived and his sister, but together they were the Survivors)  


(Rose took it as a promise)  


(according to the public, when Harry had been struck by the killing curse, their magic had merged and reflected it back at Voldemort. It was ridiculous but she was grateful to Dumbledore for not putting everything on Harry)

* * *

Rose loved this Remus. This Remus had a steel spine and a ruthless edge her Remus had not.  


(he had been broken by the loss of his entire pack in one fell swoop)  


(she hadn’t even known he’d been her father’s friend until it had been forced into the open. Even then, he had never visited, never written, just dropped a few stories and disappeared from her life as though he’d never been)  


(and then – and then, when he’d had his own child, Remus had nearly abandoned Teddy too)  


(Rose had never quite forgiven her Remus for that)  


This Remus still had a pack – it was smaller and fragile but still there. He had something to fight for and it invigorated him.  


(Rose wondered if werewolves had meant to be protectors. They were as loyal as dogs, fiercer than wolves, stronger and faster than humans. Their magic rose and fell with the moon, the gravitational pull that lifted tides strengthening water magic. Lycanthropy was a blood-based curse, after all)  


She knew Remus had been forced to embrace his ruthless side, but she also knew he sometimes hated himself for it. He hadn’t been afraid to pick up her and Harry before, but after the death of Lily and James he’d gone two weeks without going near them. She’d finally cornered him one day (literally, she had backed him into a corner) so when she ran at him and hugged his leg, he had nowhere to run.  


Perhaps it had been a bit heavy-handed, but it had made Sirius laugh for the first time since Samhain. Harry, seeing this, scrambled down from the sofa and clung to Remus’ other leg, giggling uncontrollably.  


“Stay,” she told the fabric of Remus’ robes. “Stay!” Harry echoed.  


She looked up. “Up, Moony!” Rose yelled. “Want up!”  


“Want up!” Harry agreed.  


Remus looked helplessly at Sirius, who grinned back.  


“Don’t look at me, I’ve got my hands full.” Sirius sat in the spot Harry had vacated and scooped up Algernon, holding the cat like a baby. Algernon gave him an irritated look, but he was fat and sleepy and too good-natured to struggle.  


“You – have you forgotten what I am?” Remus hissed. “I can’t just – they’re children!”  


“Unc’l Moony!” Rose reminded him.  


Sirius gave Remus a smug smile. “What you are is Uncle Moony, and if you don’t give those children what they want, Rose will cry, and Harry will join her.”  


Remus made a helpless noise but was already reaching for her.  


“How am I supposed to carry both of them?” He demanded.  


“That sounds like not my problem,” Sirius grinned. “Good luck.” He stretched across the sofa, setting Algernon down on his chest. However, Harry had only copied her because he knew it would make her happy. The moment Remus picked her up and she laughed with joy, Harry let go of Remus’ robes and ran back to Sirius, crawling onto his stomach and making him wheeze.  


“Oof, Merlin, Harry,” he grunted, depositing Algernon on the ground. "Give a man some warning next time, won't you? You're not as little as you used to be."  


“Padfoot,” Remus said. “I think we’ve been had.” She giggled and pulled on his hair. Remus made a face at her but smiled back when she did.  


“I quite agree, Moons,” Sirius said. He ruffled Harry’s hair affectionately. “Aren’t you proud of them? A year old and already living up to their legacy.”  


“Of course.” Remus agreed. "Hogwarts won't know what to do with the second generation of the Marauders."  


(but then they remembered that they weren’t just babysitting, that James and Lily were dead, that Peter had betrayed them, and called the house elves to take them back to their room so they could grieve in peace)  


(on the nights of the full moon, she heard the werewolf howl for his missing pack)

* * *

In her old life, Rose hadn’t known about Potter Manor until, seventeen and recovering from the Battle of Hogwarts, she’d gone to Gringotts to try and make reparations for the dragon incident (the only reason they let her leave alive was because they needed her to blow off the dust from the Potter and Black fortunes) (and because murdering the Defeater of Voldemort while she was still adored by the public might’ve actually begun another Goblin War).  


The Potters were a historically Grey family. There was a reason why James Potter had never shied away from Sirius Black, why Sirius had been able to seek sanctuary with them after running away. James' history had been whitewashed after his death, but Sirius and Remus and his parents remembered him as he was.  


(laughing and mischievous but with a vicious edge the war had only honed)  


(the Potters had seen that same ruthlessness mirrored in Lily)  


_(leave him alone,_ Lily had hissed. James had looked at her burning green eyes and seen the unspoken threat. Lily was relentless. She had never broken a promise she’d truly meant)  


(James had liked her before, but after that he loved her)  


In both lives, Rose learned at the knee of Fleamont Potter’s portrait. In this one, she had a brother beside her. Their grandfather taught them about the Potter’s history, eyes warm and wistful. They’d been a great house once – Potters had invented Amortentia and helped implement the Statute of Secrecy. The Statute was actually a worldwide spell that altered muggle perception to make it seem like a myth, increasing skepticism and making magical creatures either extinct or invisible. The Potters had contributed greatly to its construction. They'd travelled from India as a branch of the family a thousand years ago, becoming the main family after a series of illnesses and scandal left the main branch broken.  


Parseltongue had never been exclusive to the Slytherin line; although a rare and often hidden talent, it had been common in India and cropped up in the Potter line every now and then. Just as marriage to a muggleborn had brought out a Metamorphmagus in the Black line, it brought out a pair of Parselmouths in the Potter.

* * *

“What are you doing here?” Rose asked, seven years old and incredulous. She’d been wandering the forest near Potter Manor, dipping her feet into a babbling stream, when the personification of eldritch horror appeared next to her.  


Death furrowed his brow (she didn’t want to consider how the End of All Things even knew how to do that). “Can’t a being visit their Master without an interrogation?”  


“Not when it took twenty-one years for the first visit and seven for the second,” Rose said flatly. She paused. “Anyway, shouldn’t it be Mistress, not Master?”  


Death looked disgusted. “Don’t be such a muggle. Haven’t you noticed that titles like Master and Lord are gender neutral?”  


“I’m seven,” Rose repeated.  


“You’ve spent over a decade in the Wizarding World.”  


“Yes, most of it as a _child._ ”  


Death gave an aggrieved sigh. “Nevertheless, it’s shameful for you to retain such muggle sensibilities. Anyway, that’s not why I’m here. Seven is an important age. I’ve brought you a gift.”  


A gift from Death sounded very much like something she did not want. It had ominous connotations that made her think of the cautionary tales that told of the decrepit, crumbling bodies of those who asked for eternal life but not youth.  


“Don’t look so wary,” Death pouted. “You’ll like it, I promise.”  


Rose eyed it skeptically.  


“Every witch needs a familiar,” it said, holding out its hand. A basket appeared in it, small, wicker, and entirely too innocent-looking. It gave her a pointed look and she reached out tentative hands to take it, wishing she had a wand to check for curses (although, would human magic even be able to detect such a thing if it came from _Death?_ ).  


Then the basket _moved,_ and she really should’ve paid more attention to its words because then she wouldn’t have been so shocked when it gave a little chirp.  


“What–“ she began, only to realize that Death had already disappeared, the arse.  


She removed the top of the basket, looking down. A pair of yellow eyes looked back. Its head tilted inquisitively.  


It looked like a snake, with a bird-like beak and iridescent turquoise scales. It lifted its head out a little more and she caught a glimpse of what looked distinctly like purple feathers.  


_$Hello$,_ it hissed.

* * *

“That’s an occamy,” Sirius said in disbelief. “They’re native to India and the Far East, how on earth did you find one in a basket?” He sat back in his chair, looking distinctly frazzled, and glanced at Remus for help.  


Rose shrugged, widening her eyes innocently. “Can I keep her?”  


“Rosie,” Remus said in a strained tone of voice. “Occamies are very dangerous. They grow up to fifteen feet long. It’s a quadruple-X creature. They're dangerous and require a trained wixen to handle.”  


“But she’s all alone,” Rose said in a small voice. She bit her lip, looking away and tilting her head so the light caught the glimmer of moisture in her eyes. She’d spent half an hour figuring out the best way to convince her Uncles, eventually giving up and hoping her cuteness and likeness to Lily would be enough. “She’s scared.”  


At her glance, the occamy lowered its head, curling up even more tightly in its basket and looking entirely pathetic. Rose wondered if she should be wary of how good an actor it was.  


She sniffled again and Sirius broke.  


“… You’ll have to take care of her,” he said at last. Rose looked up, eyes shining hopefully.  


Remus looked scandalized. “Sirius –“  


“Look at them,” Sirius said, sounding vaguely disgusted. “Can’t you tell they’ve already bonded?”  


Rose turned her big green eyes to Remus. The occamy relaxed and lifted its head, sensing her change in mood. They tilted their heads in unison.  


Remus looked torn and then defeated. “Make sure she doesn’t hurt anyone.”  


“I will! Thank you thank you thankyou!” Rose squealed, giving a little dance. She set the basket on the table and flung her arms around Sirius and Remus. “Love you!”  


“Love you too, Rosie,” Sirius sighed. “Come on, let’s go tell Harry.”  


"Merlin, she better not end up like Hagrid," Remus grimaced. "I don't think I could take it."  


(her story was terrible. She knew they suspected something, but she was so happy they couldn’t bear to ruin it)  


(they understood the necessity of secrets and she loved them for it)  


If any of them were afraid that Harry might react badly, they were immediately assuaged by Harry’s reverent “oh wow, she’s so pretty, you’re so lucky Rosie.” He thought the occamy was the most brilliant thing ever; it helped that she was tiny and adorable.  


_$You’re lovely, aren’t you?$_ Harry had cooed, running a finger down her spine. The occamy arched into his touch and gave a happy chirp. Sirius and Remus had screamed at the Parseltongue. She and Harry exchanged looks, realizing they’d forgotten to tell them. The things Fleamont had told them were Potter family secrets but they had forgotten they were allowed to share tidbits that applied to them.  


(their brooms were confiscated for a week. They couldn’t bear Harry’s sad eyes any longer than that)  


(they gave in on the little things and immovable on others – Harry hadn’t had his height- and speed-limiting charms on his broom removed until he was ten)  


(they seemed to breathe a bit easier after the Parseltongue reveal – familiars could not harm their bonded regardless, but it helped that Harry could also communicate with it)  


“Potters used to breed occamies in India,” Fleamont told them. “It fell out of practice when the new Head of the Family – a parselmouth – found it distasteful. She turned the breeding grounds into a sanctuary and took an occamy as her familiar.”  


(“Chandramani’s sanctuary is famous amongst magizoologists,” Death had told her. “You won’t be able to find much more information than that. She lived over a thousand years ago and was very careful with her image. Others might tell you that she was kind and gentle but how useful do you think kindness was in the defense of occamy eggs?”)  


_$You were wonderful$,_ she told the occamy later. _$You never seemed anything but docile$  
_

_$Of course I was$,_ it preened. _$I am always wonderful$  
_

_$Yes, how silly of me to forget$,_ Rose agreed, lips twitching. _$Do you have a name?$  
_

The occamy looked at her. If a snake could look confused, she did. _$I have no need of a name. Names are meant to distinguish. There are none like me$  
_

Amusement bubbled in her stomach. There was something adorable about the little creature in its palm-sized basket, head no larger than her pinky. Something about the way it hissed bellied its youth.  


_$Of course$,_ she said, holding back a smile. _$You are unique in your beauty and viciousness. But names can also be meant to honor. My brother is called Harold, who was once a king of England. May I call you Macha? She was worshipped as one of the Celtic goddesses of war and death$  
_

She was also the goddess of birth and love, but she wasn’t going to tell the occamy that.  


_$Acceptable$,_ Macha acquiesced. _$I will allow you to worship me as the goddess of war and death. I name you Red One, so that you may spill the blood of your enemies in my honor$  
_

_$... Thanks$,_ Rose said. Were all snakes this… bloodthirsty? Was it only occamies? Or had she been specially chosen by Death to –  


She sighed. She was going to hit him next time she saw him (she was also going to ask if masculine pronouns were acceptable because this was far too confusing in her head).  


(“It’s a real occamy,” Death had assured her. It looked amused. “I am Death, not Life. I simply… relocated it”)

* * *

Sirius put down his fork, folding his hands and looking at her and Harry, considering. Feeling the weight of his gaze, they look up.  


“So,” Sirius said. “You’re eight.”  


Harry grinned. “Congratulations, you’ve finally learned how to count! Rosie and I were getting worried –“  


“Harry,” Remus sighed, trying very hard to look stern. Sirius made a face. Rose stifled a giggle. “Sirius and I were wondering if the two of you would like to attend muggle primary school. It’d be good for you to meet other children your own age before Hogwarts. Lily always thought that wix ought to know the basics of the muggle world anyway.”  


Harry glanced at Rose, who shrugged. He turned back to Sirius. “It won’t be dangerous? Where would we even find a muggle school?”  


Sirius grinned. “My dear old mum never did manage to disinherit me. The Blacks have got an ancestral home in London with wards as strong as the ones we have here. Stronger, even, and far more cruel. Once we’ve brightened the place up a bit, you could floo from Potter Manor to Grimmauld and walk to school – or we could just move there, I suppose,” he shrugged. “It won’t be too much trouble to forge a few documents and we can get Remus in as a teacher.”  


She and Harry exchanged looks. Potter Manor was fun, but they’d never had another friend aside from each other. Wixen matured faster than muggles, but that difference only became remarkable at around the tenth or eleventh birthday. That was when their magical cores first came into their own – it began to settle at thirteen and was fully mature at seventeen.  


“Could you keep us together?” Rose asked.  


“Of course.”  


“Alright,” they said in unison.  


Sirius blinked. “Merlin, that’s odd.”  


Remus flicked Sirius’ nose. “They’re twins. It’s normal,” he said.

Over the years, Rose had become a better actress. She’d learned how to lean on her childish instincts, let her adult mind shape her intent and then filter it through her young body. The night Hagrid had been meant to take them to the Dursleys’ she’d refused to be separated from Sirius, screaming and crying and kicking with all her might. Harry joined her and the two of them prevented Sirius from going after Pettigrew. With Sirius free of Azkaban, Rose knew she only had to wait until Walburga’s death to gain access to Grimmauld – and through Grimmauld, the locket.  


It went like this:  


When they moved into Grimmauld Place three months before the start of the school year, she wandered until she found the Black family tapestry. She squinted at Regulus’ face, looked at the date of his death, and frowned. She made sure to flinch when she first saw Kreacher, made sure to watch him with enormous eyes whenever he was in the room. A week later Sirius found her in front of the tapestry again. She’d made sure to stomp around a little as she walked. It was early morning, a time only Sirius was up. He liked to watch the sun rise.  


“All right, Rosie?” He asked. She blinked a little when she saw him, startled.  


“I… can you tell me about him?” She asked. “Regulus?”  


A shadow passed over his face, face twisting with concern and guilt.  


“I’m sorry –“ she blurted out, feeling guilty. She backed off at the pain in Sirius’ eyes – she’d forgotten that he was human, that Regulus had been more than a way to get access to the locket and gain Kreacher’s loyalty. She’d become like Dumbledore, become Slytherin in the worst possible way, seeing people as nothing more than chess pieces to be poked and prodded and moved where she liked. Overcome with horror, she fell silent but Sirius was already talking and –  


Well.  


She was already this far, wasn’t she?  


( _For the Greater Good,_ her mind whispered, mocking)  


“I suppose it’s only natural for you to be curious,” he said.  


“I didn’t know you had a brother,” she whispered, remembering a moment in her fifth year when she’d said those same words (winter break, Arthur, snake, St Mungo’s, blood warm in her mouth).  


Sirius smiled a little, wistful. “He was my brother,” he said. “Idiot swallowed everything our parents fed us about purebloods and mud –“  


He coughed. “That is to say, he joined the Death Eaters as soon as he was old enough. Got himself killed a few years later.”  


His voice was light with forced levity. Merlin, she was awful.  


“Do you have any photos?” She asked, arranging her face into one of trepidation and confusion. The corners of her eyes tightened with wariness, brows furrowed, jaw clenched in quiet, horrified denial. Sirius was out of sorts already, so she doubted he’d notice if she slipped up, but she’d have to face him and Remus later. She couldn’t slip up.  


“… In his room,” Sirius said. He forced a smile. “Want to see?”  


“Could I?”  


(she was a terrible person)  


Sirius led her to Regulus’ old room. She moved in front of him to push open the door.  


The green and silver blankets were mussed, a journal lying open on a desk. A quill sat in an open bottle of ink. It looked like Regulus had hurried out of bed and would be back any minute. The only incongruity were the walls, covered in old newspaper clippings. They were yellow and curling with age but still stuck resolutely to the walls. Behind her, Sirius made a sound like he’d been punched. Rose pushed down her guilt, bundling it up tight and stuffing it in the cupboard under the stairs in her head. She locked the cupboard’s door and shut it tight.  


(if Sirius ever found out what she’d done, would he hate her?)  


She walked over to the desk where a framed photograph still sat of the Slytherin Quidditch team. There he was, Seeker, sitting in the front like she’d used to (and then they’d both died).  


“Oh,” she whispered. She turned back to Sirius, grabbing his hand and tugging him down the kitchen. He followed, confused, head rapidly clearing.  


“Rosie –“ he began. She cut him off.  


“Siri, please,” she begged, looking back at him so he could see the tears gleaming in her eyes. “Please just – just watch? Please – I – I need to – please –“  


Sirius subsided, worry written all over his face. She’d never been this scattered before and she knew it frightened him.  


“Kreacher,” she burst out. He was always in the kitchen during the early morning. “I need you to tell me something.”  


Thank goodness Sirius had ordered him to obey them as his masters.  


“Kreacher will obey the filthy half-blood,” the elf muttered, eyes narrowing. She spoke before Sirius could reprimand him.  


“Kreacher, I’m going to tell you something and you’re going to tell me if it’s true. Nod if it is, that’s an order.” She took a deep breath, knowing she looked mad.  


“Regulus took you to a cave,” she began. She was crouching in front of Kreacher so she saw him still. “He took you to a cave and inside the cave there was a lake.”  


Nod. Kreacher trembled ever so slightly. Regulus had ordered him not to tell the family, but she was the one doing the telling.  


“He took you across the lake in a boat.”  


Nod. His large eyes stared past her, filling with tears.  


“He –“ she made her voice crack, then hardened it as if determined. “He ordered you to have him drink a potion.”  


Nod. He began to cry.  


“You switched the lockets,” Rose whispered. “And you watched as Regulus was dragged –“  


At this, Kreacher began to sob, great, heaving things that shook his entire body with the force of it.  


“Kreacher failed!” He wailed, lunging to grab the poker next to the fireplace. “Kreacher failed Master Regulus, Kreacher could not destroy the locket, bad Kreacher, BAD KREACHER - !” He hit himself once with the poker before Rose wrestled it from him. He fought her, clawing at her face and neck, his sharp fingernails leaving streaks of heat until –  


“ENOUGH!” Sirius roared. “Kreacher, stop! Rose – Rose, what - ?”  


“Kreacher!” She gasped. “I order you – I order you to bring me the locket!”  


She caught a glimpse of his wide-eyed stare before he disappeared with a _crack,_ reappearing a second later.  


“Give the locket to Sirius,” she said. The fear trembling her voice was real. Memories darkened the edges of her vision ( _I have seen your heart, Ronald Weasley, and it is mine_ – the glint of a silver sword studded with rubies – diving and then cold, cold water, tendrils of seaweed grasping her ankles, fighting her, she couldn’t breathe _she couldn’t breathe she_ -)  


“-ose! Rose! Can you hear me?”  


Sirius was shaking her. His face was ashen, horrified. As soon as her eyes focused on him, he turned and snarled at Kreacher, backhanding him so hard he flew through the air and crumpled against the wall.  


“Sirius!” Remus cried. He moved between him and Kreacher’s huddled body. With a start of fear, she saw Harry. As soon as their eyes met, he tackled her. She fell backwards, still gasping for air, Harry hugging her as hard as he could.  


“It’s okay –“ he whispered into her shoulder. “It’s okay, I’m here, you’re okay, you’re okay –“  


“I’m okay,” she whispered faintly. She stared at Sirius and Remus above Harry’s head. Remus had physically restrained Sirius, who was still fighting. Both of them seemed to have forgotten about their wands.  


_“He did something to her,”_ Sirius was snarling. For an instant she saw him as he would’ve been, starving and ragged and desperate for Pettigrew’s blood. His face was twisted with rage. _“Let me go, Moony, you don’t understand –“  
_

“Sirius,” Rose cried. “No – don’t – I’m sorry – let me explain –“  


She sat up, untangling herself from Harry. He stayed close, pressing his shoulder against hers, holding her hand in his. She focused on that, the feel of his skin, grip of his hand, and tried to untangle her thoughts.  


Regulus. Kreacher. The locket.  


“Sirius,” she said again, louder this time. “Don’t, it’s not his fault.”  


Sirius stopped. Remus kept hold of his arms warily. “What do you mean it’s not his fault?” He asked hoarsely. “He got the locket and the moment you saw it you –“  


“It was me,” Rose blurted out. Harry squeezed her hand.  


“Listen,” Harry said. She’d never heard him speak like that before – quiet, authoritative, no question at all that they’d obey him. “Rosie was upset but she’s fine now. Can we sit down so she can explain? Fighting isn’t helping.”  


Remus cleared his throat. “Harry’s right, Sirius,” he said. “Let’s sit.”  


They sat at the kitchen table. Remus summoned a pot of tea, filling it with water and tapping it with his wand to boil. Rose cupped her tea with both hands, Harry’s knee pressing reassuringly against hers, and tried to remember why she was here.  


Regulus. Kreacher. The locket. And then –  


She squeezed her cup harder. The porcelain burned her hands, but it was a satisfying pain. She was in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place. She was here. She was fine.  


“I’m sorry,” Rose whispered.  


“Don’t be,” Harry said immediately. “It’s not your fault.”  


“Could you tell us what happened, Rosie?” Remus asked gently.  


She nodded, shame burning in her throat. This wasn’t what she’d meant to happen. She hadn’t wanted this, but she had to –  


_Stick with the plan,_ she told herself. _This is salvageable. You’ll be fine.  
_

“I’ve been having dreams,” she said quietly. “Ever since we moved in. I keep – I keep seeing –“  


“What you told Kreacher,” Sirius finished.  


“The cave, the lake, the lockets. You thought it was a dream but when you saw Regulus’ photograph –“  


“I recognized him,” Rose whispered. “So I asked Kreacher. I thought… I thought I was going mad.” Her voice broke. She remembered the horror and confusion she'd felt at hearing the basilisk whisper in the walls and put that in her eyes. “I don’t know how but I know that the locket’s important – I think Regulus told Kreacher to destroy it. But when I saw it I remembered – “  


“You remembered your dreams,” Remus finished for her. She looked up and his eyes were very sad. She nodded.  


“I figured I was either some kind of seer or going mad,” she said, giving a strangled laugh. “I’ve never… I’ve never read about anything like this.”  


“You’re not going mad.” Sirius said firmly. He reached across the table and gripped her shoulders, staring at her intensely. “I’m a Black. I know madness.”  


“Yeah,” Harry added. He gave her hand another squeeze. “I think I’d notice if my twin went mad.” A teasing grin bellied by the worry in his eyes.  


“We’ll figure out what the locket is,” Sirius said. “If it Regulus wanted Kreacher to destroy it…”  


“I think he turned,” Rose whispered. “At the end.”  


Sirius looked like he was trying not to cry. “Be that as it may,” he said roughly. “Moony and I – we’ll figure out what it is. You don’t – it’s not your job to take care of us, Rosie.”  


Remus cleared his throat slightly. “Perhaps Dumbledore –“  


“No,” Sirius and Rose said at the same time.  


“He was the one who moved James and Lily to Godric’s Hollow,” Sirius said. “He came up with the Fidelius. They would’ve been fine in the Manor – “  


( _they were bait,_ Rose thought)  


("I'm so, so sorry, my dear girl," Dumbledore's portrait had told her. "You need not forgive me - I have never forgiven myself. But we were losing, badly, and that prophecy was the only hope I had.")

(it was good for her to have these reminders that her parents had not been infallible. They had trusted the wrong person and they had died)  


(she only cared about the world when she thought about how she could reshape it to keep her loved ones safe)  


“I don’t trust him,” Rose whispered. She stared at the table.  


__

_(he left me on a doorstep in November, in the cupboard under the stairs, in the room with a cat flap on the door and too many locks on the outside and bars on the window)  
_

__

__

__

_(even after I saw Cedric die he left me there, had people watching me without my knowledge. Tonks, Shacklebolt, even Figg – surely they heard my screams when I had nightmares? Surely they had seen the hours spent gardening, the too-big clothes, the cries of ‘freak’ and ‘girl.' Either none of them said a word or they were ignored)  
_

____

__

____

_(he let the Dursleys beat me down so that I didn’t care whether I lived or not)  
_

_____ _

__

_____ _

_(so that I would walk to my death willingly)  
_

______ _ _

__

______ _ _

_(he was the closest thing I had to a grandfather and he set me up to die)  
_

_______ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _

______ _ _

“Since Rosie’s some kind of seer,” Harry said quietly. “It’d probably be a good idea to listen.”  


______ _ _

(if they told Dumbledore, history would repeat itself)  


______ _ _

(she still didn’t know what to do about the horcrux in Harry, but she wasn’t going to let him walk to his death)  


______ _ _

(could they not trap Voldemort’s wraith, destroy the inanimate horcruxes, then wait for Harry to die naturally?)  


______ _ _

(Regulus had known the locket as a horcrux. Surely Sirius could do the same)  


______ _ _

Remus looked defeated. “I – alright. But if something happens – “  


______ _ _

“We can revisit it,” Sirius finished. “But in the meantime,” he glanced at Kreacher. “I want to know why Kreacher knows how my brother died.”  


______ _ _

(Kreacher tells them. Sirius cries)

______ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for cramming like ten years into one chapter :') I'm very eager for Hogwarts  
> I'm not planning on doing any bashing in this fic - I think Dumbledore has good intentions, but he focuses so much on the bigger picture he forgets about the little people. As one of those little people, Rose has a lot of resentment for him. She respects and understands him but doesn't trust him to have her best interests at heart. But she's also starting to see a lot of the things she hated in Dumbledore (reluctance to share knowledge, believing they know best) in herself and that unnerves her.  
> (Also, I have a lot of feelings about Regulus Black)


	3. Year 1, Part 1

There was a knock on the door and Rose tried very hard not to react as the nervous face of Neville Longbottom (dear Merlin, he was so _small_ ) peeped at them. She had spent the past two months strengthening her occlumency for moments like this.  


“Excuse me, have either of you seen a toad at all?”  


Harry and Rose shook their heads.  


“Have you tried asking a prefect to do a summoning charm?” Harry asked. Neville (wait, she wasn’t supposed to know his name yet) shook his head miserably.  


“I think their carriage is up front,” Harry said, smiling reassuringly. “Want me to come with? I’ve been wanting to explore the train anyway.”  


She could tell Neville was about to refuse – Hermione had been a bit of a bulldozer at this age and Neville still far too timid, Hermione wouldn’t have taken no for an answer – so she piped up. “Please take him, I’ve been looking for an excuse to get rid of him all morning.”  


Harry rolled his eyes and turned back to Neville. “Really, you’d be doing me a favor if you let me come with you, you see what I’d have to deal with otherwise?”  


“Love you too, Harry,” she chirped.  


“Er - ,” Neville said, looking a bit overwhelmed. “Er - S-sure.”  


“Great!” Harry grinned. “See you later, Rosie!”  


The compartment door slid closed, just in time for Rose to catch a glimpse of Neville’s face as he put together _Harry-Rose-green eyes_ and his eyes went wide. She felt a flicker of worry and quashed it, grateful it had been Neville and not Ron who’d found them first. Neville, at least, was less likely to make a big deal out of Harry’s fame. He had far more tact than Ron at any age.  


Rose settled back in her seat, returning to her book. When Harry and Neville returned, Neville clutching a disgruntled-looking Trevor, she hung around for a bit and then excused herself. Now that Harry had a maybe-friend, it was time to begin her Anti-Prejudice campaign. She needed to establish herself as her own entity amongst the Slytherins, so when she was friendly to them later she could retaliate with a but-I-met-them-on-the-train-they-were-one-of-my-first-friends-they-aren’t-like-that, complete with a dose of puppy eyes. If her puppy dog eyes could break Remus Prefect Lupin, eleven-year-olds wouldn’t stand a chance.  


She had until fourth year to unify the houses. She needed to get the diary in second year so that when Voldemort resurrected himself at the end of fourth year, she could capture him (or kill him, depending on whether or not she’d found a solution for Harry yet. But really, if worst came to worst, she could just dose him with the Draught of Living Death and lock him up somewhere). If she failed, at least Hogwarts would be united against him – Rose was going to make friends with the Slytherins whether they liked it or not. She was going to do everything she could to keep her classmates from becoming Death Eaters, because one fewer Death Eater was one fewer enemy for Harry. She would not allow Harry’s Hogwarts years to mirror hers – no confrontation with Quirrell, no Chamber of Secrets – and Rose was willing to reshape their society to keep Harry safe.  


(Harry deserved a world without prejudice, and the downtrodden deserved to have someone fight for them)  


(the girl in the cupboard had wished and wished for someone to save her. It was too late for her but there were countless others in cupboards, in rooms with too many locks on the door and bars on the window)  


With conscious effort, she rearranged her face into one of curiosity, softening it with a shadow of nervousness. She peered discretely through the compartment doors as she passed until – _finally_ – she found the one she’d been looking (hoping) for.  


After all, Theodore Nott might have grown up around Malfoy, but from the stories she’d heard he’d always been more Ravenclaw than Slytherin (further proof that the Hat took choice into account). Even at Hogwarts she’d noticed he’d never really got on with Malfoy – Nott never stopped him, sure, but what she’d condemned him for before the war she’d understood after. He’d never even gotten a Dark Mark and had (from what she remembered) hung around with Daphne Greengrass and Blaise Zabini, both of whom were firmly neutral. He'd gone on to study Ancient Runes under Adaline Smith, who's mother had been a squib. They'd become not-quite friends in her eighth year and kept sporadically in touch until her death. She remembered Nott as a quiet, bookish character, who'd been surprisingly snarky once she'd pulled him out of his shell.  


So when she happened upon a compartment empty except for Nott reading next to the window, she took a moment to thank whichever not-Death deity was looking out for her.  


Hugging her book conspicuously against her chest, she knocked on the door, greeting him with a smile when he pulled it open.  


“Apologies for interrupting. I’m Rose Potter. Would you mind terribly if I joined you? My compartment was getting too unruly for reading.”  


He blinked at her, a slight widening of the eyes the only sign of his shock.  


“Theodore Nott,” he said. “You’re welcome to sit if you’d like.”  


His voice was quiet, but she could hear it in the way he spoke that he expected her to turn tail and run the moment she heard his last name.  


“Well met,” she smiled, holding out her hand, taking an unholy amount of pleasure in the way his mouth actually fell open for a moment before he remembered himself and shook hands.  


“Well met,” Nott said faintly. Rose resisted the urge to giggle as she sat down and slid the compartment door closed. They both returned to their books, Rose pretending not to notice Nott glancing at her every so often. This was going quite well, but she couldn’t help but think that she’d forgotten something.  


_$I’m hungry$,_ Macha complained, poking her head out and staring up at Rose imploringly. _$Feed me, Red One$.  
_

“Dear Merlin!” Nott yelped, flinching back and almost dropping his book in shock. “Is that a snake?”  


_Oops,_ Rose thought guiltily, trying not to laugh. “An occamy,” she said apologetically. “She’s my familiar. I’m so sorry, she’s usually asleep. What's wrong, sweetheart? Are you hungry?”  


Macha looked as irritated as a snake could. After a few years with Remus and Sirius, made stronger and cleverer by the strengthening familiar bond, she understood English quite well. _$Of course I am hungry. You were speaking with the toad boy and forgot to feed me$  
_

“Oh, I forgot to feed you,” Rose said as if in realization. “How cruel of me.”  


She glanced up at Nott and finally lost the battle against her laughter. His face went from shocked to scared to affronted as she gasped, trying to calm down.  


“I’m sorry,” she giggled. “I should’ve told you earlier but your face –“  


Nott’s expression turned rueful and he smiled a little. “Well, it was a bit of a shock,” he said dryly. “I think you just took a few years off my life, Potter.”  


“Apologies,” Rose replied, trying to keep a straight face. “It’s just – my family knows about her already. I’m not exactly used to meeting new people.” She smiled at him. The apology in her eyes was entirely real.  


(they’d only ever been to Diagon Alley under glamours. Sirius and Remus gave the press snippets of news to keep them at bay but no photographs)  


She saw the curiosity spark in his eyes as the shock wore off.  


“Fair enough,” he grinned. “She’s beautiful.”  


“Isn't she?" Rose beamed. 

“What’s her name?” Nott asked, now eyeing Macha with poorly-disguised interest.  


“Macha.”  


“… You named her after a goddess of death and war?”  


“She’s a goddess of love too,” Rose said defensively.  


“That’s not as reassuring as you think it is, Potter.”  


“Would you like to feed her?” It was a bit of a leap, but he looked so cute, desperately trying to disguise his excitement. She still breathed a sigh of relief when he visibly lit up at her question.  


Pulling out a box of Ice Mice, she held it out to him. He fed Macha carefully, almost reverently, staring at her in wonder as she uncurled from her wrist and rose, wings spreading slightly for balance. When he was done, Macha retreated back up her sleeve, leaving only her little blue head poking out at the top of Rose’s hand.  


“What else does she eat?” Nott asked quietly.  


“She likes pixies,” Rose said. “Cornish ones especially. She’s really not picky, I don’t think. I’ve seen her eat everything from doxies to rats before, but I can’t exactly carry around a jar of rats.”  


“Well, technically you could,” Nott pointed out, grinning ever so slightly. “It depends on how much mess you’re willing to deal with.”  


She made a face at him outwardly, but on the inside, she was celebrating. She’d played up her excited-little-girl act, wrinkling her nose, making eye contact, smiling at him like they were sharing a joke. At muggle primary school, Rose had learned that the best way to befriend someone was to act like their friend already, and now, after a single conversation, Nott was already _joking_ with her!  


“My godfather might actually explode if he found rats in my bag,” Rose giggled. “And that would be terribly messy. I couldn’t possibly subject my house elves to such horror.”  


Nott straight-up _grinned._ “You’re awfully morbid, Potter.”  


“Please,” she said, trying not to cackle. “Call me Rose.” Thank Merlin Nott hadn’t reacted too badly to Macha – the show of trust she’d made in allowing him to feed her familiar had been a good move, but she couldn’t afford to make a mistake like that again. Just because he was (will be) a Slytherin didn’t mean he automatically liked snakes. But that was for later. In the meantime -  


“Theodore, then.”  


\- she had a friend to make.  


(she loses him in the crowd and ends up in a boat with Susan Bones, Hannah Abbott, and Morag MacDougal, but that was fine because by the end of the train ride they were already excitedly talking about Runes and bemoaning the wait until third year before they could take it as an elective)  


(also, it would’ve been embarrassing to cry in front of her new friend)  


Seeing the castle again, whole and unblemished and welcoming, had been like coming home. She’d felt the castle’s magic sweep over them, a subtle tingling and sudden warmth somewhere around her heart. The wards were older than Grimmauld Place, magic more varied than Potter Manor, steeped in history and strengthened by the thousands of wixen who’d lived there and learned there and called it home.  


_You are safe here,_ Hogwarts seemed to whisper. _You are safe and loved and welcome.  
_

If she hadn’t already been sitting, she would’ve been knocked to her knees.  


Then the moment passed, and Rose tried to wipe her tears as discreetly as she could.  


“It’s beautiful,” Susan whispered.  


“I can’t believe I’m finally here,” Rose breathed.

* * *

Rose caught a glimpse of Professor McGonagall before memories slammed against her occlumency shields so hard she staggered.  


(“Are you alright?” Susan whispered.  


“Fine,” Rose replied)

(her heart pounded insistently against her ribs, an endless chorus of _run run run look behind you so many people possible enemies **run** )_

(it was good she'd remembered the ghosts - she didn't want to think about how she might've reacted otherwise)

* * *

The Sorting went as it did last time. She smiled at Harry as he headed to the Gryffindor table (“We got Potter!” the Weasley twins cheered. She made herself believe she did not hear them)  


"Potter, Rose!" Professor McGonagall called. Rose fixed her gaze on the Sorting Hat - 

(the glint of a ruby-red handle, fire, _kill the snake_ ) 

walked up to the stool, ignoring the whispers - 

("she doesn't look anything like her brother")

and sat as Professor McGonagall placed the Hat on her head.

 _Hufflepuff, please,_ Rose thought, clutching the edges of the stool.  


_Are you sure? It would be a travesty to put this kind of ambition anywhere other than Slytherin.  
_

_Maybe, but I’d like to actually achieve my ambition. Sister of the Boy-Who-Lived or not, it’ll be harder to convince the other three houses that Slytherins aren’t all evil if I’m a Slytherin myself. Besides, everyone trusts a Hufflepuff.  
_

_That’s the most Slytherin reasoning for going to Hufflepuff I’ve ever heard. Are you sure? You could be great you know, it’s all here in your head and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness.  
_

_I don’t care about greatness. I just want to keep my brother safe.  
_

_I see. It’s rare to find a soul as loyal as you, Miss Potter. I still think you’d do better in Slytherin, but if you insist –  
_

“HUFFLEPUFF!” The Hat shouted, whispering one last sentence to her before Professor McGonagall plucked it from her head -  


_be gentle, you vicious girl  
_

\- and the Hufflepuff table exploded into cheers.  


Rose walked there, beaming, almost bouncing, and shot a glance towards Harry. He was sitting next to Neville at the Gryffindor table, looking a little sad but clapping for her all the same. She felt a surge of affection for him and flashed him an apologetic smile as she sat next to Susan Bones.  


(he wouldn't have cared if she'd been a Slytherin - Andromeda Black, who'd taken back her surname once she'd been reinstated to the family, and Euphemia Potter, both former Slytherins, had done all they could to combat the prejudice)

“Congratulations,” Susan whispered, eyes shining.  


“Thanks,” she replied, feeling a bit light-headed. It was finally hitting her that this was happening, that she was at Hogwarts and had a chance to save her friends, give them a happier life, turn Hogwarts into the home it was always meant to be. She set her fingers on the edge of the table, gripping gently to stop their trembling, and turned her gaze back to the sorting.  


Her thoughts lingered on the Hat’s parting words. Was it a warning? They both knew she didn’t quite belong, after all.  


Rose’s memories of this life began the day she was born. She remembered the way her mother had disregarded things like legality and morality in the defense of her children, the way she'd thrown herself into blood magic, the way she’d been willing to sacrifice her life to give them a chance. She’d admired and been grateful for it, had striven to be more like her mother in all the ways that mattered. Had the Hat called her vicious in her past life, Rose probably would’ve cried. She had been a shy, startled creature who'd wanted nothing more than to make friends. It bothered her that she’d taken it as a compliment in this one.  


_Later,_ she told herself. Later she would think about her own morality, right and wrong, good and evil. But right now, she was in the Great Hall, watching as Ron Weasley _(so small)_ went to Gryffindor amid raucous cheering. Right now, she drew her occlumency tight around her and didn’t let herself marvel at seeing the Hall so full. The dead lurked at every table and she didn’t think she could look at them without breaking.  


She didn’t dare look at the Head Table, not even to see Snape’s reaction to carbon copies of Lily and James Potter _(look at me,_ the Snape of her memories rasped, pearly white memories gushing from his eyes). She didn’t look at the Ravenclaw table, where she knew Anthony Goldstein would be sitting (MacNair had gotten him with the blood-boiling curse in the final battle; Rose remembered Terry Boot’s scream as he beheaded MacNair with an overpowered _diffindo_ ). She didn’t look at the Gryffindor table, which held Lavender Brown (mauled by a werewolf, died the next full moon, Parvati had never been the same), Alicia Spinnet (the floor had collapsed, she’d staggered backwards and fallen down, down, down, Rose remembered the sound her body had made when it broke upon the ground), and F –.  


(she couldn’t say his name, not even in her head)  


Rose had underestimated how difficult it would be to surround herself with the younger ghosts of people she’d lost. The memories pressed and battered and pushed against her shields and when the feast began, she’d smiled and excused herself, locking herself in the stall of a nearby bathroom. She counted backwards from a hundred, focusing on her breathing.  


_Just a little longer,_ she told herself. _Just a little longer and then you can scream.  
_

_$It is alright, Red One$_ , Macha hissed. _$You are safe and warm and have plentiful food$  
_

Snakes weren’t very good at comfort, but Macha did the best she could, sending weak pulses of magic down their familiar link to calm her. She was still young and could only wrap herself twice around Rose’s wrist, but the little magic she could spare slowed Roses’ heartbeats and lessened some of the tension in her body.  


(at least she had stayed conscious, unlike with the locket)

(in the evening, when they retired to the Hufflepuff dorms, she didn’t forget to let Susan know about Macha. Susan had taken the news with an acceptable amount of wariness and minimal screaming, eventually being won over when Macha preened and stretched out her wings)  


(Macha was going to be unbearably smug in the morning)  


(but until then, her familiar curled herself around her wrist in the closest thing she could manage to a hug, hissing at her comfortingly as Rose silenced her curtains and sobbed)  


_(these people are different,_ she told herself. _These people are alive and well and different, and you do a disservice to those who died by equating them to their younger counterparts)_

* * *

(two nights later, she borrowed the Invisibility Cloak and went to the third floor)  


(she unlocked the door with an _alohamora)_  


(she hummed a lullaby Lily had once sung)  


(she watched as Fluffy fell into a deep sleep)  


(waited, still humming, under the cloak, watching for any signs of a professor)  


(when her watch told her fifteen minutes had passed, she sighed, shifted Fluffy’s paw off the trapdoor, and carved a basic motion-activated ward onto the edge)  


(by the time she’d left, locking the door with a tap of her wand behind her, it had been half an hour and she’d not been disturbed)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I just skip over the iconic letter and Diagon Alley scene? Why yes, yes I did.  
> Anyway, I've got the vast majority of first year written, but I keep going back and rearranging and editing things so updates are going to be sporadic to say the least.  
> Please let me know if I'm being too sympathetic towards blood purists - it's a difficult balance to get right


	4. Year 1, Part 2

Repeating first year, although monotonous, was nonetheless more interesting than she’d expected. She’d had access to the libraries at Potter Manor and Grimmauld Place, yes, but she’d forgotten that she had a far easier time learning something in-person instead of in a book. She still expected classes without a magic component, like Herbology and Astronomy, to be a complete bore, but she’d had fun in Transfiguration, integrating the basic concepts she was reviewing with her knowledge of higher-year theory.

(it hadn’t hurt to have won Hufflepuff five points either, gradually adding more and more details to her needle until Professor McGonagall had actually _smiled_ at her)

(she might’ve kept her memories, but she hadn’t kept her magic. She’ll have to regain that control, relearn to temper her power, and that had taken years last time)

(a child’s mind and magic were dynamic. It had taken her a year each to organize her mind and construct a basic occlumency shield in her past life; it had taken six to do the same in this one, despite the tutoring Sirius had given her)

(after the almost-incident at the Welcoming Feast, she’d locked away the emotionally charged memories from her past life. That was why, when Professor McGonagall smiled at her, she didn’t stare back with accusing eyes at the woman who’d known about her cupboard.

They’d spoken after Voldemort was gone; McGonagall had never been able to go against Albus Dumbledore, so she’d known and done nothing. Done nothing about leaving a witch with the ‘worst sort of muggles,’ done nothing when her letter had been addressed to the cupboard under the stairs, done nothing when she’d arrived too small and too skinny and flinching at loud noises)

(Rose liked McGonagall, but she’d never been able to trust her)

This time around, she put a great deal more effort into making friends. She sat with Susan and Hannah during lunch, chatted with Justin and Ernie between class, and spent evenings in the Hufflepuff common room (if Macha was nearing exhaustion and her occlumency shields were hanging on by a thread, that was no one’s business but theirs). She kept herself visible, approachable, friendly, knowing Harry was doing the same in Gryffindor (the difference was that Harry was naturally social, now that he’d come out of his shell a bit. _He_ wasn’t manipulating anyone). It took a few days for her Housemates to stop stealing glances at her. Once she was one of them, she began branching out. Saturday morning, she left Susan and Hannah with a smile and made straight for the Gryffindor table.

“Morning, Hare-bear, Neville!” Rose chirped cheerfully, plopping down on his left. On his other side, Neville gave her a tentative smile. They got a few odd looks, but Harry had (somehow) already become well-liked in his house so they gave them a pass.

“Morning, Rosie,” Harry grinned.

“Good morning,” Neville greeted.

“How’s Gryffindor?”

“It’s absolutely brilliant,” Harry gushed. “The common room’s all red and gold and warm, it’s exactly as Siri and Remi described it.”

“Bit loud though,” Neville grimaced. Harry gave him a sympathetic look. He’d told her the morning after the feast that Neville had asked him about silencing charms. Neville was a light sleeper; she vividly remembered her past Neville complaining about Ron’s snores.

“It’s weird without you,” Harry told her in an undertone. Neville was very focused on his toast, politely pretending not to hear.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, squeezing his hand. Harry’s eyes were wistful but there was a sharp perceptiveness to them she often forgot about.

“You’re sorry I’m upset,” he corrected gently. “You’re happy in Hufflepuff, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” she admitted. “It’s very… cozy.” She smiled mischievously. “Especially the axe above the main fireplace.”

Neville’s eyes widened. “What do you mean, ‘axe’?”

Rose giggled. “Helga Hufflepuff’s axe, of course! It’s enormous, it’s bigger than I am. The elves keep it well-sharpened.”

Harry looked skeptical. “You’re pulling my leg, aren’t you?”

(she wasn’t)

(Helga Hufflepuff had been known as Black Helga, the most terrifying mercenary sorceress of the century)

(she’d soaked the continent in blood and retired to Britain, only then learning the value of loyalty; even then, kindly Professor Hufflepuff had no qualms about defending Hogwarts with every bit of the ferocity and tenacity that had made thousands fear her name)

(the axe was a reminder – do your best, work hard, and play fairly, but if a time ever comes when none of that is enough, do whatever it takes to protect those you call yours)

(“the other Houses dismiss us as duffers,” Prefect Brianna Melton had told them. “Expect to be underestimated, but remember that more Ministers and Department Heads have come from Hufflepuff than any other House”)

They chatted about classes, Harry getting adorably excited when he told her about Charms. His eyes lit up, smile splitting his face, and looked so adorable that she couldn’t resist a giggle and hug. Harry endured her cuddles with dignity, not missing a beat. She’d been touch-starved in her past life and it had carried over to this one.

“Are you allowed to sit here?”

Rose looked up. Hermione ( _Granger,_ her mind whispered, _this one doesn’t know you yet)_ stared back at her, frowning. She’d forgotten how bushy ~~Herm~~ Granger’s hair had been when they were younger – Merlin, the dark curls were a veritable halo around her head. She’d also forgotten how much of a stickler for rules the girl had been.

“There aren’t any rules against it,” Rose said mildly.

“Rose is my sister and I haven’t spoken to her properly in days. Surely it’s not against the rules for us to have breakfast together?” Harry asked. There was an edge to his voice that only Rose could hear, telling her that he was very much displeased at H- _Granger’s_ interruption.

Granger pursed her lips, either not noticing or uncaring of the warning. “According to _Hogwarts: A History,_ students need to sit at their House tables.”

“Only during feasts and special occasions,” Rose said cheerfully, giving Harry’s hand a warning squeeze. “It’s kind of you to worry but there’s no need, I’ve looked over the rules and Charter already. You’re Hermione Granger, aren’t you?”

Granger blushed and held out her hand. “Yes, and you’re Rose Potter. It’s nice to meet you.”

Harry, Neville, and Rose all winced. Rose saw the hurt in the girls’ eyes and rushed to explain. “Sorry, it’s just – in our culture, it’s considered rude for the person of lower social standing to offer their hand first. Magical and Muggle Britain have very different customs, they’re practically different countries.”

Hermione deflated a bit. “Oh. Sorry, I didn’t know.” Her voice was very small. “I thought the Wizarding World would be like the Muggle one – silly of me, in hindsight. I just assumed.”

“Rose didn’t mean it badly,” Harry said kindly. “It’s not your fault you didn’t know. But for future reference, we usually say ‘well met’ at a first meeting and the social superior offers their hand first. Otherwise it’s like you’re saying that you think you’re better than they are.”

“I’ve never heard of that,” Hermione ventured slightly. She sat down hesitantly, looking every inch the nervous little girl.

“We can t-teach you,” Neville mumbled, retreating back into his shell. “If-if you’d like.”

“I’ll ask around too,” Harry said. “You can’t be the only muggleborn who doesn’t know this stuff.”

“There are some books in the library,” Rose offered. She’d found them in her eighth year. “I forget the titles - ,” (she hadn’t but she wanted Hermione to make friends) “- but you can ask Justin Finch-Fletchley. He’s in our year and muggleborn too. Maybe you could work together.”

Granger looked overwhelmed. “I – alright. Thanks,” she added, biting her lip.

Rose was overcome with a wave of sympathy. Glancing at Harry from the corner of her eye, she knew he felt the same.

“It’s not your fault,” Rose repeated firmly. “My uncle’s on the Board of Governors, he’s been pushing for a Wizarding Culture class for years.”

“Why?” Granger frowned. “That sounds terribly useful.”

Harry and Rose shared a look.

_Is Neville…?  
_

_Don’t know.  
_

“It’s complicated,” Rose said, making a face. “Ask us again after you’ve gone through the books.”

Granger looked disappointed but then her eyes hardened, and she straightened. Rose saw a flash of the girl who’d faced down Bellatrix Lestrange. “I will.”

* * *

“Hagrid’s invited me over for tea tomorrow,” Harry said, frowning. “I’ve never met him before, why would he…?”

Rose hummed thoughtfully. She thought of Hagrid, the mysterious grubby little package they hadn’t seen in this life, the article about the Gringotts break-in she’d found on Hagrid’s table. She liked Hagrid – she really did – but he was undeniably Dumbledore’s man through and through.

“He was friendly with the Marauders, wasn’t he?” Rose suggested. “Maybe he just wants to meet you.”

(she remembered Hagrid, tied to a tree, yelling her name, carrying her body back to Hogwarts)

(she remembered shaking with the force of his sobs)

“Maybe,” Harry said, unconvinced. “Want to come with?”

“… I’m alright,” Rose said awkwardly. Her feelings about Hagrid were… complicated, to say the least. She needed to sort them out before she could see him.

* * *

Rose had unleashed a monster.

“I got a book on how to properly use quills but why do we use them in the first place? We have pens and pencils in the muggle world, it’s ever so much more convenient.” Granger asked. She’d made straight for Justin when he’d arrived at the Great Hall yesterday morning and she’d seen them chatting with their heads bent together in the library that afternoon.

“I’ve read _An Introduction to the Wizarding World_ and _Modern Magical Customs_ but neither say anything about that at all,” Granger continued. She and Rose were sitting at the Hufflepuff table. Rose had remembered her Hermione being an early riser, so she’d made sure to sit on an empty stretch of bench, keeping an eye on the doors and waving brightly at Granger when she arrived.

“It helps build the dexterity and strength needed to wield a wand. Also, it’s easier to enchant things that’ve been altered as little as possible,” Rose said, spearing a piece of fruit with her fork. She missed Kreacher’s breakfasts – he liked to cut up her fruit in odd shapes.

Granger’s eyes gleamed with interest. “Oh, that makes so much more sense! I thought…” She blushed a bit, dark skin darkening even further.

“You thought we were stuck in the Middle Ages?” Rose giggled. “Don’t worry, I asked that too. In third year, we get to take electives like Ancient Runes and those work a lot better if they’re drawn with ink on parchment. More permanent. There are ways to enchant muggle things, of course, it’s just really, really complicated. My godfather has a flying motorbike but it took him years to make and he was near top of his class.”

“What’s Ancient Runes?”

“Oh! They’re –“

“Absolutely not!” Harry interrupted, plopping down across from them. He crossed his arms and frowned at her very seriously. Neville sat down beside him, looking uneasy at the Hufflepuff table. She felt a sudden flash of gratitude that she hadn’t been put in Slytherin – neither Slytherin nor Neville would’ve been very comfortable in this situation but the Hufflepuffs only gave the occasional odd look and ignored them.

“You can’t let Rose get started on runes, Hermione,” Harry continued, buttering his toast. “She either goes into scholar mode or lecture mode and talks and talks and talks and you’re just sitting there, unable to move, helpless in the face of Roses’ excitement, until someone can stun her from behind and she finally shuts up.”

Rose looked at him with big wet eyes. “You should’ve told me you don’t like me talking about runes, Harry,” she sniffed. Her lower lip trembled. “I’ll just… find someone else, I suppose.”

Harry held out until she dropped her gaze and wilted.

“No – I didn’t mean it like that – you can talk to me about runes whenever you want, Rosie,” Harry said desperately. He reached across the table to grab her hand.

Rose perked up immediately, beaming. “Thanks, Hare-bear! You’re the best.”

Harry wrinkled his nose but smiled back at her. “You’re so terrible, Rose,” he said fondly. “Poor Hufflepuff.”

“… That was terrifying to watch,” Granger said faintly. She looked simultaneously horrified and impressed.

“Funny though,” Neville grinned quietly, averting his eyes. “I’ve never seen you so desperate, Harry.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “I’d like to see you try and say no to her when she looks at you like that,” he shot back. “I’ve seen lords of the Wizengamot crumble like nothing.”

Granger grimaced. “I can imagine.”

“I can teach you if you like,” Rose offered.

The bushy-haired girl perked up immediately. “Oh, would you? That would be love-“

“I never should’ve let you two meet,” Harry sighed mournfully. “C’mon Nev, let’s go before they start plotting world domination.” Neville, a happy flush on his face from the nickname, nevertheless nodded a fervent agreement.

“Sometimes a tactical retreat is the best thing to do,” Neville agreed solemnly. Harry pulled him to the Gryffindor table.

“Don’t be silly,” Granger called after them. “We’ve got to take over Hogwarts first.” The two girls looked at each other and giggled.

“I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship,” Rose beamed. She held out her hand and pretended not to notice the way the other girl’s eyes filled with hope. “Rose Potter, but you can call me Rose.”

“Hermione Granger. Call me Hermione,” Hermione smiled back, eyes bright. They shook on it.

“Well met.”

“I thought ‘well met’ was for a first meeting?”

“It’s because you usually exchange names at a first meeting. We hadn’t done it properly so I’m adding it on here. Clever of you to notice though.”

“Thank you! Well met, then. Do you mind if I ask you a few more questions? I have a list.”

* * *

She had a skip in her step for the rest of the day after befriending Hermione. She, Susan, and Hannah sat together at a table in the library to do their homework. When Rose saw Hermione out of the corner of her eye, she waved the girl over. Susan and Hannah smiled, accepting Hermione into their little group with no issue. Harry and Neville joined them later in the day and the six of them worked together in companionable silence. Rose felt like she could float – in her old life, she’d barely known Susan and Hannah existed until the Chamber debacle. In this one, she made sure Harry dropped by regularly. She was planning on stealing the diary from Ginny as soon as she could of course, but the locket incident had taught her the importance of backup plans. She was also just plain happy that she had so many friends – a part of her was still the girl in the cupboard under the stairs and her friends chased off the shadows of Dudley and Uncle Vernon quite effectively.

All of this vanished, of course, when she woke up the next day on Monday and remembered that she had double Potions with the Ravenclaws first thing in the morning. Having listened to Harry complain at her Saturday morning about Snape, she wondered if the man was meaner in this universe or if that was just Harry’s similarity to Sirius that irked him (the boy dripped confidence and sass). In her past life she’d looked like a feminine version of James Potter (she wondered if Fate had decreed somewhere that the Chosen One had to look like James) but in this life she was a copy of Lily Evans. It was such a ridiculous coincidence that she and Harry looked exactly like their parents that she was still half-convinced someone was playing a trick on her. The yellow of her tie clashed something awful with her auburn hair and every time she looked in the mirror she longed for her old black hair, untameable mess or not. That vain part of her (she wanted to call it small but honestly it was larger than she would’ve liked) mourned her refusal of Slytherin. Just about the only colours that didn’t clash with her colouring were green and black. Stupid Harry and his stupid versatile colouring, that boy looked good in everything.

She was so caught up in her grouching that she’d completely forgotten she even had Potions, snapping out of it when a sudden hush descended upon the class.

Snape swept into the room and she cheered slightly because she knew she hadn’t been misremembering his similarity to a bat (“Honestly, Rose,” her Hermione sighed). He gave the same speech she remembered from last time (and wasn’t it funny that he had the thing memorized? She wondered if he practiced). Rose kept her straight face through sheer force of will.

It was an odd lesson. Snape wouldn’t meet her eyes, didn’t single her out like he’d once done to her and had done to Harry. Her potion was excellent (Remus truly was a wonderful teacher). Snape swooped past, criticized the way Hannah had crushed her snake fangs, gave her a nod, and moved on.

(it helped that Remus, who’d always been a natural teacher, provided no-cost tutoring to younger werewolves. It had made him even more patient, more empathetic – this Remus would never have asked thirteen-year-olds face their worst fears in front of their classmates)

As they were tidying up, Rose wondered if she dared ask Snape about her mother. Sirius and Remus had been James’ friends first, after all. But then Snape sneered at Oliver Rivers so severely that the boy’s face turned white and Rose remembered that while Snape had been her mother’s friend, he was also a cruel bully who made children cry. Maybe in October, when he’d gotten used to them?

“That was _awful,”_ Hannah sighed. “I’m so glad I’m not in Gryffindor. Poor Neville.”

“And Harry and Hermione,” Susan added. Hannah’s cheeks pinked a bit. “Oh yes, of course. Excited for Charms?” She asked hurriedly, changing the subject. Susan looked at her a bit suspiciously but acquiesced.

* * *

They had a few hours before dinner. Susan and Hannah went back to the common room and Rose headed for the library (“Are you sure you aren’t a Ravenclaw?” “If Hermione can be a Gryffindor, why can’t I be a Hufflepuff?”). She’d seen her prey at a table in the back a few times but never approached them until now. A grin spread across her face and it took more effort than it should’ve to change it from ‘menacing’ to ‘happy.’

“Afternoon, Theodore!” She smiled cheerfully, dropping into the empty seat beside him like she did it every day. She turned to his companions.

“Good afternoon. I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Rose Potter.”

“Daphne Greengrass.”

“Blaise Zabini.”

Their brown eyes were wary. She wanted desperately to give them a hug (everyone was so _small_ and _cuddly)_ but that was just about the worst thing she could do so she held herself back.

“Well met,” she greeted. They were too well-trained to look shocked but Zabini’s eyes flicked to Theodore before he could stop them. Oooh, had Theodore talked about her? Her foot twitched, the only sign that she wanted to wriggle in her seat.

“Well met,” they replied.

“Now we’ve got introductions out of the way,” Rose chirped, letting her eagerness spill out, she looked at the three Slytherins and gave them her happiest beam.

“How have you been –“

“Why are you here?” Zabini blurted out, unable to hold it back any longer. He blushed and then paled in quick succession, reminding her yet again that they were _children_ and she had no right to expect the self-control they’d developed as adults.

Faux pas or not, it broke the tension and she giggled. Zabini looked relieved he hadn’t offended her.

“Well I got this letter, you see, and it told me I’d been accepted at –“

Theodore rolled his eyes. She’d been cheeky on purpose, hoping it would nudge them back into that easy banter they’d shared on the train. “Stop being obtuse, Potter, you know what he meant.”

She frowned. “I thought I told you to call me Rose.”

“I’ll call you Rose when you stop making fun of my friends,” he shot back. “You looked far too satisfied to be a Hufflepuff anyway.”

Rose was surprised and pleased that he’d gotten the measure of her so quickly. Perhaps it’d been Macha?

“Everyone underestimates a Hufflepuff.” Rose gave a shark-like grin her Daphne had taught her.

“Doesn’t it lose some of its efficacy if you tell us?” Zabini asked.

“You’re Slytherins,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Don’t tell me you don’t respect that at least a little.”

Zabini raised his eyebrows. Theodore looked smug. _Told you,_ he mouthed. Rose pretended she hadn’t seen but it gave her a warm glow of pride.

“Did Flitwick give us the same essay?” Rose asked. The conversation shifted easily and was soon replaced by the quiet scratching of quills on parchment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay this chapter is kind of choppy and wow it's weird editing it because I've written 80k words in like a week so this chapter was a distant memory. I'm nearly done year two and wow I have wayy too many subplots (the beginnings of which are going to show up in the next few chapters, I think). I'm SO EXCITED for it though, it's going to be great!! I love writing snark so much, banter sustains me <3  
> I'm also hoping to stick to an actual schedule - maybe one chapter every 5-7 days? I'll need some kind of buffer for when school starts again
> 
> Edit as of 25/02/2021; note copied from chapter 37: Special thanks to ses_12345678, who pointed out that my "muggle things catch on fire" explanation had "purebloods were right about everything, muggleborns with their silly innovations just have to learn to accept their place" undertones. I've edited chapter 4 to take that bit out, leaving the "quills are used to for dexterity and the permanence of ink helps with Ancient Runes" reason in place as to why magicals write with quills and parchment. So basically, while there _are_ reasons the magical world has the traditions it does, muggle things catching on fire when exposed to magic isn't one of them. This'll be addressed in more detail in chapter 38, but I just wanted to let you guys know to help alleviate any confusion in advance! As always, thanks to everyone who reviews, leaves kudos, or bookmarks this fic :)


	5. Year 1, Part 3

Thursday morning, she’d been taking a sip of water until she heard Neville exclaim over his Remembrall behind her. She turned in her seat, putting her back to the Hufflepuff table to face the Gryffindor one, and slid in next to Hermione just as Malfoy sauntered up. She’d forgotten about the flying incident – sure, it had gotten her on the Quidditch team, but Neville had broken his wrist. Maybe she could head that off. He was her friend and she didn’t want him to be in pain if she could help it. Rose knew she was rationalizing. Deep down, she still harbored a dislike for Draco Malfoy, and she wanted to take him down a peg.

Malfoy snatched the Remembrall out of Neville’s hand. Harry jumped to his feet and Rose got a strange sense of déjà vu. “Give that back,” Harry said strongly.

Rose saw Professor McGonagall approach from the corner of her eye.

“Oh, leave him alone Harry, he’s just jealous his parents don’t care about him enough to give him one.”

Malfoy flushed. “That’s not true!”

“Then why did you take Neville’s?” Rose asked reasonably. “I’m sure he would’ve let you look at it if you just asked, right Nev?”

Neville nodded uncertainly but Harry, bless his heart, caught on quickly.

“Of course,” Harry said. “Neville’s the nicest person I’ve ever met.”

“What’s going on?”

“Malfoy was admiring Neville’s Remembrall, Professor,” Rose said, smiling angelically at her. “He was a bit jealous, you see, but he’d never do something so silly as taking it in front of the entire school.”

Sure enough, she saw Dean Thomas eyeing the confrontation with interest, Lavender Brown whispering away beside him. Between her and Hannah, it would be common knowledge by the end of the day. If anything happened to Neville’s Remembrall, it wouldn’t take long for students to suspect Draco Malfoy, who’d already expressed an interest in it.

“He was just about to give it back,” Harry piped up, grinning at Malfoy. She was sure she wasn’t the only one who saw the glint in his eye. “Weren’t you?”

Professor McGonagall looked at them, bright and happy, and looked back at Malfoy, who had an embarrassed flush on his cheeks and was stammering incoherently. He shoved the Remembrall in Neville’s direction and fled without so much as a by-your-leave.

“Five points to Hufflepuff,” Professor McGonagall said. Her eyes glimmered with amusement. “For excellent de-escalation.”

“I have no idea what you mean, Professor,” Rose beamed. Professor McGonagall looked almost fond for a moment before she turned and went back to the staff table.

“Thanks, Harry, Rose,” Neville said quietly. “You didn’t need to do that.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “What, were we supposed to just sit there while Malfoy put his poncy little fingers all over your things? That was brilliant, Rose,” he added, sending her a grin. “Did you see his face?”

Rose gave a little bow before getting up. “Thanks all, I’ll be here all week, leave your compliments with the waitress. I’ll be back in a bit.”

She walked out of the Great Hall and leaned against the wall casually, pulling a book from her bag and flipping through it. When she saw Malfoy pass at the head of a group of the rest of the Slytherin firsties, she called out to him.

“A word, Malfoy?”

His face flushed. “What do you want, Potter?” He spat, turning to face her.

She smirked at him; one her Daphne had taught her. It was mocking and disdainful, perfect for the situation.

“A bit of friendly advice, Malfoy,” she said airily. She let her eyes go cold and was gratified to see him pale a little. “Next time you engage in a petty power play, leave my brother and his friends out of it.”

Malfoy met her gaze head on. She was a little impressed.

“Yeah? Or what?”

… Never mind. That was such an obvious opening that Theodore would never speak to her again if she didn’t take it.

“Or else I’ll show you exactly what I’ve learned from the Black Library,” she grinned.

“You – you wouldn’t. You’re a Potter.”

“And I was raised by a Black.” She said, voice low, letting the barest hint of Parseltongue creep into her words.

“My father –“

“Is a lord of the Wizengamot and would, I imagine, not appreciate being dragged into a spat between his son and the Potter and Longbottom heirs.”

She was pleased to see an angry flush work its way onto his face. No answer. She beamed, all trace of coldness gone from her expression. “Have fun in flying class, Malfoy!”

Zabini laughed. Rose turned on her heel and practically skipped back into the Great Hall. She caught Theodore’s eye as she did, and he raised his eyebrows at her. Her smile turned smug and she headed back to the Gryffindor table, just in time to catch the tail end of Neville’s explanation.

“… it’s not very useful though since it doesn’t tell you what you’ve forgotten,” he finished, staring mournfully at the red smoke.

“It turns black when you’ve been obliviated though,” Rose piped up. “If you keep it on you long enough for it to get used to you.”

Hermione’s expression went from guiltily unimpressed to interested in an instant. “Obliviate is the memory charm, right?”

“Yes,” Rose nodded. She turned back to Neville, who by his expression clearly hadn’t known this bit of information. “It’s not common knowledge since Remembralls are so expensive but nearly every heir has one. You’ve just got to smash the Remembrall to restore them.”

“I never knew that,” Neville said, looking at his Remembrall with new eyes. “Huh. Thanks, Rose.”

“’Course,” she grinned. Rose wanted it common knowledge by the time Lockhart got here.

Neville grinned back, a nervous edge to his expression. “Can’t say I’m very excited for flying lessons though, especially not with the Slytherins.”

“We had ours with Ravenclaw yesterday,” she said. “It’s not that bad, you just hover a bit in the first lesson.

Hermione frowned. “I still don’t see why it’s mandatory.”

“Not everyone’s got a Floo connection,” Rose said. “You can’t apparate somewhere you’ve never been before, and portkeys are regulated by the Ministry. If you haven’t got the stomach for the Knight Bus, brooms are your only option ever since Britain outlawed magic carpets.” 

Dean Thomas leaned over and frowned. “So, they’re sort of like cars, then?”

“I think so,” Harry said thoughtfully. “The non-quidditch brooms have built-in invisibility and weather-repelling enchantments and the like. I think Cleansweep has been adding an auto-flying option but I’m not sure how that one works.”

“Anyway,” Rose cut in. “Since the Ministry doesn’t allow floo connections to muggle homes, muggleborns are pretty much stuck with the Knight Bus and brooms. The newer models have enchantments and things to keep you on, but you can’t rely on those all the time. It’s really not that bad. I promise you’ll be fine.”

(and they were. Neville, having received reassurance and support from his friends, was less nervous and didn’t fall of his broom. There was no Remembrall incident, no midnight duel, and so Harry and his friends remained blissfully unaware of the Cerberus on the third floor) 

* * *

Rose and the other Hufflepuff first years had a check-in with Professor Sprout every week. Rose had quietly bemoaned the lack of inter-House common spaces, mentioning that she and her friends had gotten chased out of the library for being loud, how they’d relocated to the Great Hall but it’d been difficult to concentrate with all the noise, and that it was difficult to keep up her friendships with students in other Houses as a result.

“I only ever see my brother during meals now,” Rose said sadly. “And sometimes my friends are given a hard time for hanging out with a _Hufflepuff._ ” She was exaggerating a bit (a lot) but she wasn’t _lying._ Professor Sprout sniffed out lies like a niffler sniffed out gold but was less adept at detecting omissions or exaggerations.

She’d asked for advice on how to keep up her friendships and two weeks later Professor Sprout had slipped her an official-looking document, telling her that she’d gotten the Headmaster’s permission to requisition an abandoned classroom near the library for her and Harry. It smacked of favoritism (Dumbledore couldn’t mysteriously gift them the Cloak this time) but she wasn’t about to turn it down just because of her principles.

“Just write their name at the bottom of the parchment and the wards will let them in,” Professor Sprout beamed. “And let your friends know they can always come to me if anyone looks down on them for spending time with you.” They shared a grin. Professor Sprout was the kind of person who raised man-eating plants for fun and it showed.

Rose dragged her friends aside after dinner and presented the parchment with a flourish. Hermione frowned at the special treatment, but Harry cajoled her until she gave in.

She could tell Dumbledore had had a hand in it – it bore an eery resemblance to the Gryffindor common room, a rectangular wooden table in the center of the room. There was even a plush red sofa in front of a merrily crackling fireplace.

Neville’s eyes brightened when he saw the potted plants by the window.

“Told you, you were Sprout’s favorite,” Rose teased. “She knows you’re my friend and those plants certainly aren’t here for _me._ ”

Neville ducked his head, not quick enough to hide the pleased flush that spread across his face.

Harry laughed. “What’re we standing around for, then? C’mon!”

They ended up calling it the Study Room. Unimaginative, but she and Hermione had resolutely vetoed Harry’s suggestion of “Harry’s Hideaway.”

(“It’s not even yours!” Rose said indignantly.

 _“Harry’s Hideaway?”_ Hermione exclaimed.)

Rose wrote home begging Remus to send her his tea (he made the blend himself and refused to tell anyone the recipe, the arse) and three days later Wally (Sirius had named him after his mother as a laugh but Wally refused to answer to anything else), the family owl, dropped a package in her lap. She opened it in the Study Room and Harry laughed out loud when he saw that Remus had enclosed a teapot and cups as well. The teapot had been charmed bright yellow, the painted so that if you looked at it the right way it looked like a badger face, the spout acting as the snout.

“He’s such a mum sometimes,” Harry said fondly. Rose spent a week using her ever-refilling water bottle before she learned aguamenti again. She tried teaching it to the others but only Harry had learned it in the end. Hermione looked disappointed before shrugging and saying that it was lucky they were so close to a bathroom.

“It’s probably the occlumency,” Rose sighed. “The two of you are plenty powerful.”

Harry was explaining what occlumency was to Hermione when Rose grew concerned at the look on Neville’s face.

“I’m not powerful at all,” he said quietly. “I already know occlumency but I can’t even get a drop.” He looked at his wand miserably.

Rose couldn’t believe she’d forgotten about Neville’s wand. The only class they shared was Herbology, so she hadn’t been party to his disappointment in this life. She frowned and wondered how she could bring this up.

“Maybe write to Ollivander?” She suggested. “There might be something wrong with the wand.”

Neville looked even more miserable. “There’s nothing wrong with it. It’s my father’s wand and worked fine for him.”

Harry glanced over and frowned, breaking off his conversation with Hermione. “Did it choose you, then?”

Neville shook his head.

“Ollivander said that the wand chooses the wizard,” Harry said. “I can’t even get sparks with Rosie’s wand. It doesn’t mean you’re less magical than your dad, it just means you’re different. You’re his son, not his clone. That’s not anything to be ashamed of.” Harry was using his Leader voice again. Rose felt a burst of pride and affection.

“Well said, Harry.” Hermione smiled but there was something sad about it. “Just because you’re different doesn’t mean you’re wrong.”

Poor Neville looked a bit overwhelmed by this outpouring of support. He mumbled something about asking his gran and looked back at his Charms essay, writing very intently. They backed off but Rose saw Harry and Hermione exchange a look and smiled. They’d make sure Neville got his own wand.

* * *

“Good evening, sir! Would you happen to be Marcus Flint?” Rose said cheerfully. Marcus Flint glared at her from his seat in the courtyard, a sight that would’ve made her cold with fear in her past life but now only made her happier. He seemed confused when her only reaction was to broaden her smile. He was with some other members of the Slytherin Quidditch team, who quieted and turned to watch the show.

“… What d’you want?” Flint grunted.

“Well met, Mr. Flint! I’m Rose Potter and I want you to insult me,” Rose said promptly. “You see, Malfoy has been trying to insult me all week but his are dreadfully boring. He re-uses the same ones every day, it’s honestly a bit pitiful. All I hear now is ‘Potty’-this or ‘carrots’-that. I need you to help me regain my faith in the wit of the average Slytherin, Mr. Flint.”

“You’re bloody weird, Potter,” Flint sighed. “Leave me alone.”

Rose frowned at him. “Surely you can do better than that? At least say you’re glad the Hat didn’t put me in Slytherin since it’d bring the intelligence of the whole house down.”

To her joy, Flint snorted. “No wonder you’re in a different House than your brother, I don’t think I could stand to live with you either.”

Rose bounced on the balls of her feet and clapped a little. “That was wonderful!”

One of the other boys grinned at her. “Cassius Warrington, Potter. Well met. Mind if I chip in?”

“Of course! The more the merrier! I’m still scarred from the fifty-eight times I’ve been called ‘Potty’ in the past week.”

Warrington sighed. “Apologies about Malfoy, Potter. I assure you, most Slytherins are far more creative than he is.”

“That’s very comforting. My grandmother was a Slytherin and she seemed very clever, so I needed to know if I had to feel sorry for her or not.” At Warrington’s raised eyebrow, she elaborated. “Euphemia Potter, you know. She was born a Wilkes.”

 _“Really?”_ Someone else cut in. He grinned at her a little apologetically. “Forgive my manners, Potter. Lucian Bole; well met. But – a Potter married a Slytherin?!”

“Do stop talking, Bole, I think I get a bit stupider every time you open your mouth,” a blond boy sighed. He glanced at her. “Peregrine Derrick; well met.” Turning back to Bole, he said, “Honestly, read up on history a bit, would you? I’m embarrassed to be associated with you.”

“If you don’t mind me saying so, Derrick, that was a superb insult!” Rose said. She mimed tipping a hat.

“Thank you, but I’m afraid it’s be wasted on the likes of you; you simply aren’t intelligent enough to fully appreciate it.”

“My condolences, Derrick, I had no idea you misunderstood reality so severely. It must be awful,” Rose said sympathetically. Merlin, but she really _had_ missed creative insults. The Slytherin Quidditch team was vicious and cutting and kept her at the edge of her seat. It was exhilarating; she couldn’t stop grinning.

Flint burst out laughing, dropping the ‘idiot troll’ mask. Rose was ashamed she’d never seen through it before. “Can’t believe I’m saying this, but I wish you’d been sorted into Slytherin, Potter. You’re far more interesting than I think any of us expected.”

“From you, that’s a compliment of the highest order, Flint. I’m disappointed, I thought I asked for insults?”

“Ah, but what’s more insulting than a request refused?” Derrick interjected. His eyes gleamed.

Rose laughed. “Fair enough, I suppose. For what it’s worth, I’m rather pleased I’m in Hufflepuff, overabundant kindness notwithstanding. All I need to do is be cheerful to have people trust me. No offense, but if I want to change things, it’ll be far easier if I’m trusted from the start.”

“And what _do_ you want to change, Potter?” Derrick asked, leaning forward. 

Rose beamed at him. “I’m ever so pleased you asked, Derrick!”

“Fucking hell, does she ever turn off?” Someone muttered. Warrington hexed his skin purple. “Shut up, I want to listen.”

“Well, at Hogwarts I want Binns to be exorcised slowly and painfully.” She got grins at that and smirked. “I also want muggle-raised firsties to take a mandatory Wizarding Traditions class, I’m getting tired of pulling them aside and pointing them to the library.” Several people raised eyebrows, which for a Slytherin was the equivalent of a dropped jaw. “I also want to dust off the ritual rooms, it’s silly to make us practice the Old Ways in secret as if it’s something to be ashamed about, plus it makes the muggle-raised even more likely to think of the wixen world as an extension of the muggle one.” She paused and tilted her head thoughtfully. “Those are the biggest things at the moment, but I’m sure I can come up with more if you give me a day or two.”

“… You follow the Old Ways?” The group had gone quiet. Rose was _ecstatic._

“Of _course_ I do, my godfather’s the Head of the Black family. He might’ve been a Gryffindor, but he was still a Black and, like I said, my grandmother was a Wilkes. We’re not exactly strangers to the practice.”

“Lovely recruitment pitch, Potter,” Derrick smirked. “From a Hufflepuff firstie and the sister of the Boy-Who-Lived, no less. I’m impressed.”

Rose raised her hand to her forehead and swooned dramatically. “Oh, my life’s ambition fulfilled! Whatever shall I do now, having at last impressed _the_ Peregrine Derrick?” The blush was real, though. Rose was embarrassed he’d noticed so easily.

He rolled his eyes. “Shut up, Potter. My point is: let me know if you need any help, yeah? My parents have been pushing for those things for _years._ ”

Flint and Warrington were conspicuously silent, but they’d bantered with her and were looking at her appraisingly, so she counted it a success.

“Thank you, Derrick,” she said, letting her blinding smile soften into something more genuine. “I really appreciate it.”

“Oh – er – no problem, Potter,” Derrick said, looking vaguely uncomfortable. She felt the change in mood and stood.

“I’ll take my leave now, boys,” she grinned. “Thank you kindly for your time!” She turned on her heel and skipped away, feeling the weight of their stares on her back as she went. That had gone far, _far_ better than she’d hoped for. Flint and Derrick were politically Neutral families and Warrington was Traditionalist. It had been a stroke of luck, honestly, but she did her grandmother proud and took advantage of the situation. That was the most fun she’d had since she’d arrived at Hogwarts. Theodore, Zabini, and Greengrass were great, but their edges hadn’t been honed the same way the boys’ had been. Sometimes she really regretted not being sorted into Slytherin – imagine, she could’ve had that kind of conversation whenever she wanted!

 _But Dumbledore might’ve looked at you and seen the second coming of Tom Riddle,_ Rose reminded herself glumly. _Especially once you openly practiced the Old Ways, once you’d started ingratiating yourself among the children of the Wizengamot._

She was grateful for the shield her House provided her and she genuinely liked Hufflepuff, but the students there didn’t have the same viciousness that Slytherin brought out in some.

(the viciousness was there, obviously, it just took more to bring it out. Slytherins wielded it like a knife but Hufflepuffs kept it tucked away for when they needed it)

They were both lovely, just different. If only one wasn’t overlooked for being a bunch of duffers, and the other wasn’t side eyed as evil.

Oh, well. That’s what she was here to change, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so much for "once a week." :') it lasted all of four days before I got impatient, so here you go.  
> (also, can I just say: 131 kudos?!?! you guys are amazing!!)  
> (also also: anyone catch the reference to The Sum of Their Parts by holdmybeer? It's honestly the best canon-compliant Dark Lord Harry story I've ever read)


	6. Year 1, Part 4

Samhain snuck up on her. She and Harry made plans to sneak off to the Study Room for the ritual, Rose wondering if Quirrell would still let the troll in that night. If he did, Rose figured she could call Harry over their mirrors and they’d sneak out if they had to. It’s not like it was illegal, after all.

* * *

“TROLL! TROLL IN THE DUNGEONS!” Quirrell cried, slamming through the doors of the Great Hall. “Thought you ought to know.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Rose muttered under her breath. Thankfully, no one heard her over the screams.

Dumbledore set off several firecrackers from the end of his wand. Silence fell.

“PREFECTS,” he boomed. “LEAD YOUR HOUSE BACK TO THEIR DORMITORY IMMEDIATELY.”

“But the Slytherin and Hufflepuff dorms are _in_ the dungeons!” Rose cried immediately. She’d started speaking as soon as Dumbledore said ‘dormitory’ so her voice carried. Snape looked distinctly irritated.

“Slytherin house will stay in the hall,” he said.

“As will Hufflepuff,” Sprout added.

“How do we know that the troll’s still in the dungeons?” Hermione piped up. “It might’ve gone somewhere else!” In this life, Hermione had had Harry and Neville as friends for nearly two months. Harry had taken her aside and spoken to her about her overbearing tendencies, and the girl was more like the Hermione Rose had known. She had made sure Hermione was present when the feast began. Even if Ron had said something, Harry wasn’t the type to let insults to his friends go unpunished.

“Gryffindor house will stay as well,” McGonagall said, giving Hermione an approving look.

“Ravenclaw will also stay!” Flitwick cried.

“Very well,” Dumbledore said. “Prefects, do a head count. Make sure no one is missing. Professor McGonagall will supervise. Madam Pomphrey, would you look after Professor Quirrell? I will lead the other professors to search and secure the troll.”

They left, locking the doors of the Great Hall with a resounding boom after the prefects had assured McGonagall that everyone was present. People picked at their food uneasily, fear of the troll having ruined their appetites.

“Rose,” Harry said, tapping her shoulder.

“Yes?”

“I have an idea. C’mon.”

She followed him as he stepped up to Professor McGonagall, Hermione and Neville hanging back.

“Professor,” Harry began, using the same voice he’d used when he’d sweet-talked Remus into removing the height restriction charms on his broom. “I was wondering… Rose and I were planning on celebrating Samhain tonight. Only…” He trailed off.

McGonagall’s eyes were sad. “Of course. Give me a moment, Mr Potter.” She waved her wand and the staff table shrank itself to half its size, food and all. Another wave and it was moved to the far end of the platform, leaving a large open space.

“Thank you, Professor,” Harry said quietly. Rose echoed him. He made his way to the platform, sitting cross-legged. She plucked a lit candle from the Hufflepuff table and made to walk over to him.

“May I join?” Susan asked quietly. Rose blinked at her and smiled slightly. “Of course.”

She glanced at Justin, who was looking uncertainly between them and Ernie, who looked uncomfortable.

“It can’t be that bad, Ern,” Justin said at last. “Professor McGonagall let them, didn’t she?”

Ernie’s expression cleared. “Yes, of course, quite right. Might we join as well, Rose?”

She smiled at them. “Go on, then.”

As she sat next to Harry, Susan settled beside her, clasping her hands in her lap. Justine and Ernie copied her. Everyone – even them – looked to Harry to lead. His green eyes were eerily bright, almost glowing, but glanced up as Dean Thomas neared their circle.

“Sorry,” he said quietly. “Seamus explained what you were doing. Could I –“

Harry smiled at him. “’Course. Sit down.”

In her peripheral vision, Rose saw the Slytherin first years make their own circle. She ached to have Theo here and promised herself that by next Samhain he would be. She saw others – Flint, Derrick, Warrington, other Slytherin upper-years she didn’t know – giving their corner appraising looks.

“I’ll give a bit of an explanation, since not all of us have done this before,” Harry began. This was a side of Harry not many people had seen before. He was magnetic, speaking with a quiet confidence that you couldn’t help but lean in. He didn’t seem at all fazed by the many people watching him. He’d come a long way from the boy who’d clung to Remus’ robes just because she’d done so first.

“We go around and speak the names of anyone we wish to remember. If we don’t have any names, we spread our hands like this,” he unclasped his hands and lay them palms up on his knees for a moment before settling them back in place. “And the next person will go.”

Harry cleared his throat, fixing his eyes on the flickering candle. A hush fell upon the group. “James Potter,” he said. “Lily Potter.” He spread his hands, bowed his head briefly, and Rose spoke when his gaze was fixed on the flame once more.

“James Potter,” she echoed. “Lily Potter.” She bowed her head, spread her hands, and Susan spoke when Rose looked back at the flame. Its flickering had slowed. She could feel the magic building in the air, getting stronger.

“Ethan Bones,” Susan whispered. “Amara Bones.”

They went around in a circle. Finally, when Hermione spread her hands, Harry took a deep breath. Rose didn’t worry that he’d forget the words – they’d been joining Sirius and Remus since they were old enough to understand what death was.

“We are here tonight to honour our dead,” Harry said. Rose, eyes fixed on the candle, saw it grow brighter. The flame, previously yellow, began to turn white. “We are here tonight to welcome them home. We are here tonight to ease their passing, and to ask that they, in turn, ease our living. Let it so be said.”

“Let it so be said,” the circle echoed. They watched the candle for another minute. In the flame she saw the outline of Lily’s face, heard the shadow of James’ laugh. She felt the ghost of a kiss on her forehead. She smelled lavender and chamomile, Lily’s favorite scent, and didn’t stop the tears that streamed down her face. Then, in a rush, she felt them – she felt their love at seeing their children, their sadness at their separation, their joy at her and Harry’s happiness.

Beside her, Susan’s lower lip trembled. She gave a choked sob.

When the minute was up, Harry bowed his head and cleared his throat again. “Rise,” he said hoarsely, ending the ritual. He moved to put the candle back on the Hufflepuff table. They followed him in silence, all of them sitting around him. Rose could feel the magic of the ritual still clinging to them – it felt disrespectful to break the silence.

Around them, more rituals were being conducted and finished. There was an intimacy to the ritual that she’d missed but sitting here, she felt connected and whole in a way she never had before. So many of them had been touched by death, but its inevitability was comforting. They would see their loved ones again eventually.

She wondered, in a moment of insanity, if Death would come if she called. Rose pushed the thought away in case that was all it took.

At the ends of the House tables there were clusters of students, mostly muggle-raised and those from Progressive families. She saw Hannah, read her lips, and realized she was explaining the ritual. Rose relaxed slightly when she saw no trace of judgement in her expression.

“That was beautiful,” Hermione whispered, breaking the silence of her group. There were tear tracks on her cheeks. Beside her, Dean nodded, unable to speak. Seamus moved over from the Gryffindor table and sat down next to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. Dean gave him a weak smile.

“I… I didn’t know magic could feel like that,” Ernie whispered. He seemed, for the first time, at a loss for words.

“Yeah,” Justin agreed quietly. “It was… incredible.”

And then,

“What’d you do that for?”

(was it a fixed event, for Ronald Weasley to make someone cry on Samhain?)

She looked up, seeing Ron staring at Harry accusingly. He’d been loud and harsh. Rose saw several circles, still conducting their rituals, flinch. His words rang like a discordant note. She’d barely spoken to Ron in this life, having forgotten how much he looked down upon Hufflepuffs, how black and white his thinking had been.

(“Everyone says Hufflepuffs are a bunch of duffers. I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn’t be too bad but imagine if they put me in Slytherin”)

(as if ambition were the most terrible condemnation he could think of)

(as if it was wrong to want to make yourself more than you were)

(as if it was wrong to look at the people who feared nothing and want that security for yourself)

 _Call him Ronald,_ her mind whispers. This isn’t her Ron.

Harry stared back. “Why did I honour my parents, you mean?”

Rose wanted to groan as Ronald, obtuse as ever, didn’t take the hint.

“But it’s _Dark,_ ” Ronald says stubbornly. “I thought you, of all people –“ His voice rose in outrage. Around them, people stirred and looked over. _Thank Merlin everyone’s already finished their rituals,_ Rose thinks. Harry was always on edge around Samhain. His temper was like a bomb. Occlumency had lengthened the fuse, but if anything made it more explosive.

“You don’t know _anything_ about me,” Harry snarled, jumping to his feet. “It’s not Dark, you idiot! My parents were _killed_ ten years ago and if it weren’t for Samhain I wouldn’t know what her laugh sounded like – and you have the _gall_ to stand there with your happy family and criticize the way I choose to – You – You –“

Rose quickly moved beside Harry as he lunged, squeezing his hand.

“You don’t need to explain yourself to him,” she said quietly.

Ronald sputtered, face bright red and rapidly darkening. Almost the entire hall was watching them now. She spotted twin spots of colour approaching and held her breath.

“Ignore our brother,” one of the twins said, clamping his hand over Ronald’s mouth.

“He’s a bit of an ignorant git,” the other said apologetically, wrapping his arm around Ronald’s shoulders.

“Sorry about him,” they said in unison.

(she could not think their names, not even in her mind. Not now, not on this night)

Harry gave a curt nod of his head, too angry to speak. Rose loosened her hold on him slightly, giving the twins a quiet “thanks” as they led their brother away. Further down the Gryffindor table, she saw Percy glaring at Ronald.

They sat back at the Hufflepuff table in silence, the moment of gratitude and lightness gone. Harry burned beside her. She nestled her head into the crook of his neck and hugged him tightly. He hugged her back, trembling.

“How could he say that?” Hermione whispered. From the sound of her voice, she’d been crying again.

“I’ll kill him if Harry and Rose don’t,” muttered _Neville_ , of all people.

Rose shut out their hushed conversation. Her brother needed her. She tightened her hold on him and slowly he relaxed, the tension releasing from his body. He leaned back, giving her a small smile. They turned back to the table and Rose grabbed a handful of chocolate, depositing it on his plate.

“Eat,” she told him.

Harry grinned, as she’d hoped he would. “You sound like Remus.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she grinned back. She saw Quirrell looking oddly at them, having been tended to by Madam Pomphrey (not that there’d been anything wrong with him anyway). He left soon after, stammering something to Professor McGonagall about joining the other teachers.

* * *

“We can ask Sirius and Remus for memories over Yule,” Rose murmured. “I have some memories too.”

Harry glanced at her. She saw a flicker of jealousy in his eyes before he resolutely squashed it.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Thanks.”

* * *

That night, Rose lay in her bed, unable to sleep. She glanced at her watch on the nightstand, grateful that tomorrow was a Saturday. Today, technically, she corrected herself. Rose had enough self-awareness to know that she wasn’t going to be sleeping anytime soon. Whispering a silencing charm at Susan’s curtained bed, grateful that Macha had stayed in her basket, she slipped on a pair of soft slippers and grabbed her dressing gown and a book. She padded down the hallway and up the stairs to the common room.

It was (predictably) empty. The fires were dull, flickering things, the light catching on the razor-sharp edges of Helga Hufflepuff’s axe on the wall above the main hearth. The witchlights above glowed a warm yellow. The windows, charmed to look outside, looked out over the lake and the Forbidden Forest. She curled up in a window seat, leaning against the glass and relaxing against the soft cushions. An ivy tendril brushed against her ankle affectionately and make a questioning _mrrh?_ sound like a startled cat when she petted it. The Prefects had told a story about a sixth year who’d ended up in the hospital wing after sitting on a piece and she still wasn’t sure if that was true or not. Since she hadn’t been able to find any mention of a plant resembling the ivy in the Hogwarts library, she wasn’t willing to risk it.

She watched the moonlight glimmer off the surface of the lake. Something disturbed its surface; Rose wondered lazily if the giant squid slept. She raised her eyes to the sky, searching for constellations, but the night was cloudy. Sirius had spelled her room at Potter Manor to always look like a clear night sky and she used to find the constellations to help her sleep.

She tapped a brick behind her with her wand, identifying it by the small yellow sun etched in the corner. It began to glow, and she willed it steadily brighter until there was enough light to read without straining her eyes; the eyesight-correcting potion required complete isolation from magic for two weeks after taking it – the Potters even had a bloody muggle cottage in Australia for it. It said a lot about the hereditary Potter eyesight.

(she had felt so outraged when she’d learnt there was a potion. It cost more than a Nimbus 2000, but the Blacks were hideously rich and nothing pleased Sirius more than spending Black money on his half-blood godson)

(it had to be repeated whenever the vision deteriorated again but _still_ )

(Harry’s glasses were enchanted to the gills, as James’ had been)

Rose looked at the book she’d grabbed for the first time. It was _A History of Runes: Malaysian Edition, Volume I,_ a golden seal in the corner proclaiming it certified by the International Society of Runes _._ The other four volumes Remus had convinced her to leave at home, reasoning that the Hogwarts library was well-stocked and there was no need to lug all of Potter Manor’s library along with her. The first volume, however, Rose couldn’t bear to part with. It was newer-looking than the others – she’d bought her own copy after reading it in the Potter library so she could jot down questions and annotations in the margins. She smiled down at it fondly. She’d spent so much time with it, focused so much of her attention on it, that it had been imbued with a touch of her own magic and she felt its familiar warmth when she touched it. Magical sensitivity was always heighted in the days following a ritual. Just holding it brought her comfort, and she wondered if she’d been subconsciously drawn to it.

She wouldn’t be surprised. Between both her lives, she’d spent over twenty years in the wizarding world, and yet magic continued to be a source of wonder. Rose pressed her hand flat against the brick, feeling the protective enchantments built into its very foundation, reveling in the magic flowing through Hogwarts like blood.

There was a scuffing sound behind her. Rose poked her head out and twisted to look.

Cedric Diggory met her gaze with an embarrassed smile. His brown hair was ruffled.

“Sorry, Potter,” he whispered. “Didn’t mean to disturb you.”

She blinked at him, suddenly grateful that she’d come to terms with his… alive-ness before Hogwarts began. She’d spent over a week turning it over and over in her head, imagining seeing him again. This was the first time she’d felt the full force of his gaze in this life and even then it send prickles up her spine.

“You didn’t,” she whispered back. “I wasn’t reading, anyway.”

Ced – no, _Diggory_ – grinned. “Couldn’t sleep?”

She shook her head.

“Yeah, me neither. I was heading to the kitchens for some hot chocolate, if you wanted to come with?”

 _No,_ her mind screamed. _Get away from him, don’t you dare –_

“Yes,” she said.

The kitchens weren’t very far from the common room. It took less than a minute to walk there, Diggory ( _not your Cedric,_ she reminded herself sternly) tickling the pear and pulling open the portrait with the ease of long practice. Rose smiled a bit when the house elves recognized him on sight, a silver tray already being topped with mugs and zooming towards the kitchens’ replica of the Hufflepuff table.

“Thanks, Mimsy,” he said easily. Mimsy beamed back at him happily before scurrying off.

Diggory grinned sheepishly at her look. “I’ve got insomnia,” he said in explanation. “I come here a lot.”

Rose gave him a sympathetic smile. (something inside her ached at the familiarity of his expression)

“I’m sorry,” she said. “No Dreamless Sleep?”

He pulled a face. “Nah. Allergic to most nettles and can’t take the allergy-correcting potion ‘til I’m of age. Professor Snape needs to order a special essence of nettle from the Americas – probably why he looks so sour every time he looks at me.”

Rose frowned. “I think that’s just his face, actually.”

Diggory grinned. He sipped at his hot chocolate, the whipped cream leaving a smudge of white on his upper lip. Rose couldn’t bring herself to tell him.

(he looked so young)

She set her book on the table, her household spells shoddy enough that it wasn’t worth the risk of a spill to leave it in her lap. Diggory glanced at it and raised his eyebrows at her.

“International runes are NEWT level,” he said.

Rose rolled her eyes, disgusted. “Only because people get attached to Futhark and can’t understand any other system. If Hogwarts diversified the runic schema earlier, no one would have that problem and we wouldn’t have to wait until seventh year to start integration, and only simple integration at that.”

“You feel very strongly about this,” he noted. Rose glared at him, making him look even more amused.

“This isn’t a laughing matter, Diggory,” she said severely. “At Durmstrang runes are an elective in _second_ year. When Hogwarts students are learning Elder Futhark for the first time, Durmstrang students are being introduced to Chinese script! We’re an entire year behind!” 

“You’re right,” Diggory agreed seriously. “That is absolutely deplorable.”

“Thank you!” Rose exclaimed. “Everyone else just pats me on the head and says I’m cute, as if that even _counts_ as a proper answer –“

She stopped as Diggory’s shoulders started shaking and he burst out laughing. Offended, she glared at him, betrayed. “Funny,” she said flatly.

“Sorry,” he gasped, still giggling. “You make – make a good p – “ he snickered.

Rose sighed, taking a sip of her hot chocolate. “Take your time, Diggory.”

It took maybe thirty seconds before Diggory stopped laughing long enough to speak. Rose was very unimpressed.

“Sorry,” he said again, the sincerity in his tone bellied by his grin. “You _do_ make a good point but, in everyone else’s defense, you’re also unfairly adorable. So,” he shrugged. “I can’t really take anyone’s side in this, I’m afraid.”

“I don’t _want_ to be adorable when I’m angry,” she huffed. “I want to be terrifying.”

(if she had _actually_ been eleven, she might’ve been blushing too hard to speak)

Diggory snickered again. “Good luck with that, Potter.” He ruffled her hair, making her scowl at him. “You’re about as terrifying as a kitten.”

“And you’re a prat, Diggory,” she sighed, pleased when it drew another grin out of him. It was soothing to make him smile.

(she owed him that, at least)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to DAZzle_10 for letting me use their Samhain rites from Harry Potter and the Actually Decent Childhood as inspiration (btw, if you haven't read it yet, go do it!! It's an excellent political HP fic with a lot of inter-house friendships and Salazar Slytherin redemption)  
> Also: 192 kudos and 72 bookmarks?!? You guys are absolutely incredible <3


	7. Year 1, Part 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Finished editing first year and decided what the heck, I have a few days before school starts and this is a short boi anyways :) thank you so much to everyone who reads/comments/gives kudos/subscribes/bookmarks!

“So I talked to Professor Babbling,” Diggory began, sitting down across from her and plucking a grape from her plate without so much as a by-your-leave. “And apparently, she’s been pushing to make the changes you mentioned but Professor Dumbledore insists on a firm grounding in Futhark before moving on to anything else, integration be damned. I’m still not entirely quite sure what that is, but from the way you two talked about it it sounds important.”

Rose sighed. “I thought it was something like that. And integration is just figuring out how to work different runic languages together, it’s a real pain since they all have different rules. Wards and enchantments made from integrated runes are far stronger though.”

Diggory hummed, helping himself to another grape. “Interesting. I suppose I’ll have to keep it on ‘til NEWTs then. Pity.”

She glanced up at the sudden silence and realized she’d never told her friends about her and Diggory’s trip to the kitchens.

“Er, this is Cedric Diggory, everyone,” she said. “Diggory, this is everyone.” Refusing to introduce someone would usually be quite rude, but the bland sarcasm in her tone softened it into more of a flick than a slap.

He squinted at her. “This is payback for the kitten thing, isn’t it?”

“It is absolutely payback for the kitten thing.”

“I rue the day I insulted you, Potter.”

(Merlin, she’d forgotten how unapologetically _weird_ he was. She hadn’t felt this instantly comfortable around someone in a long time)

Rose watched, satisfied, as they went through the lengthy introduction process.

“So what exactly were you talking about?” Hermione wanted to know. “Professor Babbling teaches Ancient Runes, doesn’t she?”

“Yes,” Diggory said at the same time Harry cut in with a firm “no.” Diggory gave him an odd look.

“Hermione and Rose can’t talk about runes together,” Harry said sternly. “Or else we’ll either be here till the end of term or Hermione’ll help Rose with one of her experiments and they’ll blow up the castle. One of you is fine. Both of you is dangerous.”

Rose sighed. “Et tu, Brute?”

Hermione giggled, Harry rolled his eyes, and everyone else looked confused.

“It’s a muggle thing.”

* * *

“Why is it such a big deal that I celebrate Samhain?” Hermione demanded, slamming her book bag onto the bench. “I’ve been getting odd looks all morning, bloody Cormac McLaggen asked if I was turning into a Dark Witch, as if there’s something wrong about honoring the dead!”

Hermione’s voice, loud with righteous anger and indignation, practically echoed off the ceiling of the Great Hall. If anyone _hadn’t_ known, they certainly did now. Rose had been worried that the Survivors practicing a ‘Dark’ ritual would turn the school against them, but she and Harry had been busy – instead of turning students against them, they’d been getting students to reconsider their beliefs. It helped that it was the Boy-Who-Lived and his sister; orphans; the Survivors, defeaters of Voldemort, honoring the parents who’d sacrificed their lives for them. Rose was perfectly willing to take advantage of their hero status if it got her what she wanted.

“You’re asking the wrong person, Hermione,” Rose said. She pitched her voice low, so it carried without making her intentions obvious. “If it weren’t for that ritual, I’d have forgotten the way my dad looked at my mum. He practically worshiped her.”

 _Beautiful,_ she thought, pretending to be unaware of the suddenly stricken faces of those within earshot. Hermione put her hand on hers worriedly. Rose smiled back. She’d reminded everyone that her pureblood father had been hopelessly in love with her muggleborn mother – Rose was not above milking those stereotypes to the fullest before she discarded them.

* * *

Later that day, Harry found her in the library. It wouldn’t have been a problem if she hadn’t been sitting with Theodore at the time, at a table so far back someone would’ve had to actively search to find them. She saw Theodore grow still and looked up to see what had caught his attention. Her twin stared back, arms crossed in front of his chest, looking distinctly unimpressed. Theodore made to pack up, but Harry stared him down.

“I was going to ask when exactly you’d gotten to know Diggory so well as to have _inside jokes_ , but I see there are bigger things I ought to worry about.”

Theodore’s eyes narrowed and he bristled. “We’re _friends,_ Potter, surely you know the term?”

She could practically see Harry’s hackles raise and shifted, drawing their attention. “Theodore was unnecessarily rude but he’s right. We met on the train. I trust him.”

Her brother frowned at her. It wasn’t one of the mock-upset frowns she was used to – this one was real. “And you’re usually such a good judge of character too. How disappointing.”

Rose flinched at the disdain in his tone. She wilted. “Harry – “

“Don’t patronize her like that,” Theodore snapped. She looked at him, surprised. “She’s not an infant. You’re her brother, not her keeper.”

At that, Harry’s face split into a wide smile. “Well said, Nott! I agree completely. I’m Harry Potter; well met.”

They both stared at him. _Had he just…?_

“Theodore Nott,” Theodore said faintly. “Well met.”

Harry grinned mischievously.

“Oh my Merlin, you _did,”_ Rose breathed. _“You tricked us!_ You set us up! _”_

“Did I?” Her brother grinned. She got up and tackled him into a hug. “You absolute _prat_ , I actually thought – “

Harry snickered. “Like I said, you’re a good judge of character.” He pulled back and grinned at her. “I just had to be sure it was the same on his side, you know?”

“I can’t believe it,” Theodore said weakly. “You’re a _Gryffindor.”_

Harry looked at him derisively. “I also grew up with Rose. You think I don’t know she avoided Slytherin by the skin of her teeth?”

To her shock and dismay, Theodore laughed. It had taken her _hours_ of private conversation to get him to do that! And Harry waltzed in and did it in what, ten seconds? How _completely_ unfair. 

(she thought of Felix Felices and how she had charmed Slughorn. She looked at Harry and thought, _this is what I could have been_ )

(in her mind, under the stairs, the locks on the cupboard rattled)

“How are you so bloody likeable?” Rose cried, throwing up her hands in frustration. “I’m a Hufflepuff, I’m supposed to be better at this!”

“Careful, Rosie, you’re falling on House stereotypes again,” Harry teased, ruffling her hair. By Circe, she _was._ What a fucking mess, honestly.

(still, she was glad Harry called her out on it)

The next time she sat with Theodore, it was in the Study Room (“that’s such a boring name, I vote for Badger Hole.” “There’s less than one badger here, Nott, that doesn’t make any sense.” “ _Less than one?!_ Harry, how could you?!”).

(it wasn’t perfect – Theodore had been willing to accept Hermione herself, who’d thrown herself into learning wixen culture and was a powerful witch in her own right, but he was unwilling to accept muggleborns as a whole unless they, too, made an effort to integrate and disliked them until proven otherwise)

(if she was being really, completely, wholly honest with herself… she agreed with him. Just a bit. The Progressives on the Wizengamot had never touched Samhain, but Mabon had been outlawed for promoting ‘the Dark’ and therefore ‘Evil.’ Its ritual had been one of reflection, a time to recognize the end of summer and coming of winter, of Dark over Light, but Dark was not Evil)

(Dark magic was born of sacrifice. That was why blood magic was so powerful – you sacrificed your blood, your history, your magic itself. The Patronus was fed happiness and turned it into a weapon)

(it was funny – Dark-aligned wixen often ended up in either Slytherin or Gryffindor. Slytherins hid their passion behind sharp smiles and cold eyes; Gryffindors let it run wild)

* * *

In the days following Samhain, Ernie had become quieter and contemplative. It was a subtle change, but she’d been on high alert. She pulled him aside one evening as they were heading to dinner, gesturing for the others to keep going.

“Listen, there’s no polite way to say this, so I’m just going to ask: are you uncomfortable around me because I’m not Christian?” 

Ernie had a bit of a deer-in-the-headlights look before his training took over and his expression smoothed.

“No,” he said carefully. He still wouldn’t meet her eyes though, and she felt her stomach drop. It was one thing to know that people would see her differently after performing the rites so openly, and entirely another to actually encounter it, especially in one whom she considered a friend.

“But you _are_ uncomfortable around me?” she pressed.

Ernie didn’t say anything, which was answer enough.

“Oh,” she said. She couldn’t keep the note of disappointment out of her voice as she wilted. Ernie’s eyes widened in panic.

“No, Rose – wait, listen – I’m just – having a bit of a hard time,” he grimaced. “I know you’re not evil or anything, and neither’s Susan, it’s just difficult to…” he trailed off, giving her a helpless look.

Rose bit her lip. “Well, you know you can always ask me if you have any questions. About the practices and so on.”

Ernie looked relieved she wasn’t pressing him on it. “Yeah, thanks, Rose.”

She smiled back at him. If her smile strained around the edges, Ernie was polite enough not to mention it.


	8. Year 1, Part 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fuck this, I want to get through year one. time to post THE ENTIRE YEAR haha  
> (also it occurred to me that I'd be kind of impatient if an author kept dangling over two completed books in front of me and told me I could only get one chapter a week, oops)  
> (worry not! I'm not going to abandon this - I'm almost done writing year 3)

Rose was happy. She studied with her friends in the Study Room, giggled with Susan late into the night, and threw her quill at Diggory when he presented her with a ginger kitten

“Her name is Futhark! Isn’t she adorable?” Diggory cooed. Futhark tried to catch the quill but missed.

“Where did you even get a kitten?” Rose asked.

Diggory looked abashed. “Mimsy’s cat had kittens and she didn’t have anyone else to give them to.”

“… She’s cute,” Rose admitted grudgingly. Algernon had passed away a few years ago, and she _did_ have a soft spot for cats.

Futhark blinked big amber eyes up at her. Diggory held her up and the kitten carefully put her paw on Rose’s nose. Diggory looked absolutely delighted. “See, she likes you!” he said happily, cuddling Futhark close again. The kitten made an unhappy sound and struggled to free herself.

“Diggory, have you ever taken care of a kitten before?”

“No, but it can’t be that difficult, can it? People do it all the time!” He patted Futhark affectionately. The kitten hissed at him. Diggory looked devastated. 

“No, Diggory, here, watch – “

She held out a hand for Futhark to sniff. Once the cat had accepted her, she stroked Futhark’s back gently and the kitten pressed up against her hand, tilting her head to let Rose scratch her neck. Rose withdrew her hand and Diggory copied her movements hesitantly. Soon Futhark was stretched out on the carpet between them, eyes closed, purring happily. Diggory looked at the cat like he’d never seen anything more magnificent. Unwillingly, Rose found herself agreeing.

“Don’t you wish you had a camera?” She heard Susan whisper.

“Dear Merlin, _yes,”_ Hannah said emphatically.

* * *

_Dear Sirius,_

_Greetings! ‘Tis I, thy favorite goddaughter again! I would be in your debt if you would be so kind as to send me Algernon’s old cat things, like his wastebox and water bowl. Apparently some house elves at Hogwarts have pets and there was an extra kitten my friend offered to take in. He wanted to feed a month-old cat a conjured rat, so please send along whatever you can find as soon as you can. Lives depend on it. (well technically it’s only one life, but she’s cute enough to count as multiple)_

_Love,_

_Rosie_

* * *

**Harry –**

**This is urgent. When did Rosie start making friends with boys? Do you know who this boy with the kitten is? How old is he? What’re his grades like? Do I need to ask Andy to forward some blackmail material? Please reply ASAP**

**\- Sirius**

* * *

_Can’t tell you that, Siri, sorry. Rosie would eviscerate me if she knew, she’s annoyed enough as it is. I know the bloke though, and I can guarantee you that if he hurts Rosie, I’ll take care of whatever she leaves behind once she’s through with him. He’s nice enough though and just a friend anyway. Lay off before she figures out how to send a Howler._

_\- Harry_

* * *

She should’ve known it wouldn’t last.

* * *

She was in Potions class, carefully stowing away her cauldron at the end of the lesson, when it happened.

**_ShockfearconfusionpainPAINPAIN_ – **

It cut off abruptly. When she came back to herself she was screaming, sprinting as fast as she could, following that tug on her magic until –

 _“Harry!”_ The word tore itself from her throat before she even realized what she was looking at. A huddled lump of black fabric, slowly soaking through with –

“Out of the way!” Snape snarled, shoving her aside. She fell to the ground, staring numbly. There was an ache on her foot that made her think she’d knocked her cauldron onto it in her haste.

That wasn’t Harry. It couldn’t possibly be Harry. Harry was supposed to be safe. Harry was –

Harry was lying on the ground in a slowly spreading pool of blood on the edge of the fifth floor landing. There was an empty pedestal nearby and the pieces of a suit of armor on the ground. The blood was –

The blood was from –

The blood was from the _sword in Harry’s stomach._

She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She wanted to laugh _(this was absurd)._ She crawled towards him on her hands and knees, stopping as she nearly slipped. Rose stared at the red on her fingers. Her head snapped up as Snape shifted. She watched him, not daring to even breathe, as he murmured under his breath and she felt his magic swirling around Harry’s body. The pool of red stopped growing quite so rapidly. The tug on her magic became a fraction less urgent. She felt the threads connecting her to her twin strengthen the tiniest bit, and only then did she realize how weak it had grown.

(how weak it still was)

The ground gave the faintest of tremors. Rose looked behind her to see the entirety of the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw year bunched together at the other end of the hall. She realized Susan was hurrying towards her (the only one who dared; it had been Susan’s footsteps Rose had felt). Rose didn’t know what she looked like, but it must’ve been bad, since Susan flinched a little when she saw her.

Susan slowed to a walk as she neared, eyes flicking between Rose and – (Harry). She knelt on the ground beside her, uncaring of the blood (Harry’s blood) staining her robes and put her arms around her. Rose stared straight ahead as Susan hugged her. Distantly, she realized she was in shock.

There was so much blood. It splattered the walls and soaked her shoes, dripping off her hands as –

No. The blood was on the floor. Only her fingertips and knees were stained. She was thinking of –

(Anthony Goldstein, skin bubbling, writhing on the ground; Terry Boot’s scream; MacNair’s head falling at her feet)

(a red, red lump; a glimpse of red-soaked curls; the horrified realization of _oh dear Merlin was that_ Lav _-)_

(she’d only known Alicia by the blood-soaked necklace she’d fished out of her remains – the acromantula had gotten there before Rose had)

She was thinking of something else.

(all of them in the DA. All of them there [dead] because of her)

A tug. Susan was standing in front of her (when had she let go?). Rose blinked at her slowly. She got up.

(she was covered in blood)

She followed.

(she was **covered in blood** )

* * *

Snape levitated Harry on a conjured stretcher to the Hospital Wing. Susan pulled Rose along behind him.

Harry was her second chance. Harry was so weak she kept a hold of the thread between them, terrified it would disappear. How? How had this happened? Harry was quick and graceful, had spent his childhood running after her or chasing Sirius or sliding down banisters. Harry would never slip on a staircase. Even if he had, he shouldn’t have been that hurt. Bruises, fractures, maybe a concussion? All of that could be healed in an instant, warranting an overnight stay at worst.

Madam Pomphrey at first tried to shoo her away when she realized she was there (“he’s been very seriously injured, Miss Potter, Professor Snape’s stabilized him for now but there’s still work to be done”), but Rose had protested, saying their twin bond made it unbearable for her to leave. It was partially true – Rose wasn’t sure she could stay upright if she couldn’t see Harry, if she couldn’t count his breaths and feel his heartbeat. There was an urgent _need_ to see he was alive until he no longer felt so weak.

Twin magic was poorly understood – the magical world mostly went off case studies, which were few in number as not many liked to be researched and experimented on. There had been cases where each twin had a separate magical core, like any other siblings. There were other cases, like that of the Weasley twins, where the connection was more rooted in mental magic and thought process. Rose and Harry, however, had a deeper connection.

 _(soul deep,_ something inside her whispered)

Harry knew when she was upset, like that time with the locket and Kreacher – his magic had pulled him towards her. Her own magic had responded, calming at his touch.

(Rose remembered the screaming fits she’d had when she was little, how baby Harry had held her hand)

“Please, Madam Pomphrey,” Rose had begged. “I won’t get in the way, I promise, just please don’t make me leave him.”

The matron had softened, looking pained. “Very well, but don’t disturb him.”

“I won’t,” Rose vowed. This was her fault, after all. She wasn’t going to make it worse.

* * *

It had been an accident, they said. Harry had tripped on the stairs and fallen, bashing his head against the edge of a landing and crashing into a suit of armor. It had simply been bad luck. Rose didn’t believe a word of it, and from the looks on their faces, neither did Sirius and Remus.

(“He’s not safe at Hogwarts,” Sirius had hissed. “Neither of them are – I was thinking we’d move them to Beauxbatons-“

“Dumbledore said they’d be safe here,” Remus had murmured. “And I don’t want to uproot them like that – they have friends here, Sirius, wixen friends their own age.”

Sirius had crumpled. “Fine,” he’d said. “Fine.”)

* * *

Harry looked so small in his bed, solemn and still. She kept her fingers on his pulse, counting the beats. Averting the incident in flying class hadn’t bothered her that much – it had been a small thing, and though Harry hadn’t made the Quidditch team in first year, she reasoned to herself that the absence of that blatant stroke of favoritism might help his image in the eyes of the school. During the game where she’d once nearly fallen off her broom, she had reaffirmed the rightness of her decision – after all, what if Harry _had_ fallen this time around? But now, sitting at his bedside, Rose realized how foolish she’d been.

Everything she changed had consequences. She couldn’t just rely on her future knowledge and float through life – she wasn’t _really_ a Seer, after all. The people she cared about were still in very real danger. Dodging one incident had sent her straight into the path of another – she had no proof, but it made sense. Quirrell hadn’t had the chance to kill Harry during his Quidditch game because he wasn’t on the team. Harry was more popular and cleverer than she’d been in her past life – perhaps he’d been seen as more of a threat. So, when Quirrell found Harry alone and unprotected, he took his chance. If their twin magic had been just a fraction of a second slower, Harry would’ve _died._

And for what? Because she’d wanted to taunt Draco Malfoy? She’d almost lost her _brother_ because she’d wanted to humiliate an eleven-year-old version of her old school rival?

Pathetic. 

She _had_ to be more careful. She needed to go through her memories of her Hogwarts years, analyze each and every moment –

No. That was impossible. People weren’t chess pieces. There was always an unknown factor – hadn’t she hated Dumbledore for thinking he knew best? Neither of them was all-knowing. She couldn’t always predict the consequences of every action, every change, and besides she’d changed so much already that for all she knew her knowledge was null already.

Hadn’t she learned from the incident with the locket? No matter how carefully she planned, no matter how many contingencies and back-ups she prepared, there would always be something that surprised her.

(her memories lurked at the edges of her vision and would strike in an instant if she let them)

(she shoved them away with a growl and added another lock)

What she needed to do was learn. She needed to prepare – if she’d been better at healing, Harry might not’ve been so close to death. She’d reached him a second before Snape, but she’d been out of shape and he’d had to follow her. If she’d been faster, if she’d known more healing…

Rose nodded to herself. Something within her settled. She wasn’t helpless. She might not be able to prepare for every eventuality, but she could do _something._ She would learn all she could about healing, refamiliarize herself with Hogwarts’ secret passages, maybe start practicing her dueling. She would work on her physical fitness, both speed and endurance. She’d been so complacent so far, thinking in her arrogance that she knew what was coming. It had taken Harry’s near-death to snap her out of it. She would not, _could not,_ make that mistake again.

* * *

Rose stayed by Harry’s side, unwilling and unable to leave even to sleep in her dorms. She slept on the bed next to Harry, head turned so he was the first thing she saw when she opened his eyes. Rose spent her time awake trying to read, a few fingers always on Harry’s pulse and a part of her always reaching out to their connection. She could tell their friends were frightened – Hermione had fussed and tried to bodily drag her away until Susan pulled her aside and told her about the oddities of twin magic.

“Sometimes one twin literally can’t survive without the other. There’ve been cases of people dropping dead because of something that happened to their twin. There’s a theory that the bond was so strong that the magical backlash from severing it killed them.”

“So, if Harry or Rose died, they might _both_ end up…?”

“It’s really rare, but I suppose…”

“That’s _horrible.”_

“That’s magic, Hermione. It can be wonderful and horrible,” Rose said quietly. She glanced up from her book and gave Hermione a small smile.

“Oh, Rose, I’m sorry – that was tactless of me – “

“It’s all right,” Rose said quietly. “But it’s not all bad. Madam Pomphrey says that the strength of the connection between Harry and I helped keep him alive. He was able to draw on a bit of my magic, and without it he would almost definitely be dead. He’d surely be dead if the bond had been weaker, otherwise I might not’ve known where he was.”

Instinctively, she reached out again to check on it. Her grip on Harry’s wrist tightened.

“Oh,” Hermione said. Her voice quivered. “This is so awful, Rose. I wish he’d wake up.”

Susan put an arm around her, and Hermione leaned into it gratefully.

“Where’s Neville?” Rose asked.

“Greenhouse two,” Susan said with a sad little smile. “He said he had to keep busy.”

Rose nodded. “I can understand that.” She suspected Harry was still drawing on her magic – Madam Pomphrey had commented on the surprising rate at which he was healing, and she felt fatigued the way she used to after casting too many spells in quick succession. She ran her fingers over _A History of Runes: Malaysian Edition_ again, taking comfort from it.

She heard the roar of flames as the Floo in Madam Pomphrey’s office activated. Rose looked up as Sirius entered, pushing the privacy curtains aside, looking haggard. At least he’d put on shoes this time, she noted. The first time, he’d arrived barefoot with a half-done-up dressing gown.

He smiled at her, then glanced at Hermione and Susan. “Hello. You must be Harry and Rose’s friends. I’m Sirius Black, their godfather.”

The girls had stood. Susan dipped into a bow. “Well met, Lord Black.” Hermione echoed her as she dipped her own bow, deeper than Susan’s.

“Well met, Heir Bones, Miss Granger,” Sirius said tiredly. “No need for formalities though, I think we’re all exhausted enough as it is.” He sank into a chair and rubbed a hand over his face.

“Merlin. No change?”

“No,” Rose answered.

* * *

“Rose,” Dean greeted. He glanced uneasily at Harry, frowning. “Still no change?”

Rose shook her head. “None,” she said. “Thanks for visiting, though. I’m sure he’d appreciate it.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean shrugged. “We’re all worried about him, aren’t we? I’m just the one who volunteered to come.”

“The only one brave enough to brave the hysterical sister?” Rose teased. Her smile felt thin as parchment on her face.

Dean blushed. “It’s not – I didn’t mean – “

“I know,” she said, expression easing. “I’m glad Harry has such good friends. I worried about him, being in separate houses.”

He coughed. “You shouldn’t. I mean, he’s very well-liked. Got lots of friends and things.” He looked embarrassed as he pulled a basket from his schoolbag. “We, er, brought him a card and some sweets.”

Rose’s smile widened into something more genuine. “Oh, chocolate frogs! His favorite!”

“Yeah,” he said, grinning sheepishly. “Well, I suppose I’ll just…” he set the basket down hesitantly on the nightstand. She caught a glimpse of the card and saw the signatures of all the first year Gryffindors in it – even Ronald Weasley, for all that he’d been an insensitive prat.

“Thanks, Dean,” Rose smiled.

* * *

“Rose?” Susan poked her head into the hospital wing. “We brought you some food,” she said shyly, pushing open the door. She held it open as Justin, Ernie, and Hannah streamed inside, each carrying a tray. Hannah’s tray was heaped with chocolate-covered strawberries. Rose felt a wave of affection for her friends. They knew she would’ve refused to leave Harry’s side, so instead they’d brought food to her.

“Thanks, everyone,” she murmured. “This is… It’s really kind of you all to do this.”

“Least we could do,” Justin said easily. Susan pulled an expandable hovering table from her pocket and positioned it next to Harry’s bed like a table, rounding up chairs.

“We figured if we couldn’t take you to the food, we’d take the food to you,” Susan grinned.

Ernie gave an uncertain nod. “It would be silly to spend all your time at his bedside, then be too weak to actually greet him when he wakes up.”

“Ernie!” Hannah scolded.

“It’s alright, Hannah,” Rose giggled. “He sounds just like Madam Pomphrey.”

Ernie looked like he didn’t know whether to be pleased or offended.

“One cannot survive on sandwiches alone, though,” Susan decreed. “And you’re far too nice to take any of Harry’s sweets, no matter how absurdly many he has.”

They all took a moment to look at Harry’s bedside table

Rose had known, intellectually and peripherally, that Harry was popular. He was good-looking, confident, top of his class, and humble (that last trait Remus had taken great care to impart). But it wasn’t until Madam Pomphrey had had to magically expand the surface of Harry’s nightstand _twice_ that she really understood. People kept coming, bringing with them cards, candies, and flowers.

Harry had close friends in Hermione and Neville, but he was friendly with most people in first through third year. Mostly Gryffindors, but many Hufflepuffs and a not insignificant number of Ravenclaws as well.

(it warmed her, to see people hoping _Harry_ would get well, not the _Boy-Who-Lived.)_

“He’ll be set for life when he wakes up,” Rose agreed. They grinned at each other. Her friends set down their trays on the table and started distributing the plates. Rose was warmed when she noticed her favorite foods – vegetable lasagna, apple slices, and a cup of tea that smelled remarkably like –

“Susan said it’s your uncle’s special blend,” Hannah said, noticing her look.

“It is,” Rose said, trying very hard not to cry. In her past life, Ron and Hermione had been bulwarks of support, but they’d never done little things like this. They’d never brought her her favorite foods, gone to the trouble of searching out a special tea blend, thought about her preferences in this much detail. She loved them and they’d loved her, but they’d shown it in different ways. She’d gotten used to one kind of support, and to receive another was…

Well.

Different.

The tears fell anyway. She sniffed and dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief, giving a wet laugh when she saw their horrified faces.

“No, don’t – I just – I really appreciate this,” she whispered. “You’re all so kind, I - ”

Susan leaned over to give her a hug, Hannah following shortly after. Justin and Ernie stayed awkwardly out of reach until Hannah shot them a look and they joined the pile with only a tiny bit of reluctance.

“We’re your friends,” Susan said firmly.

* * *

Ernie hung back as the others left.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “For thinking you were…”

“It’s alright,” Rose smiled. “It’s not your fault what you believed.”

“I’ll be better now,” he promised.

“You’re better already.”

* * *

Rose was curled up in her seat, head in her arms, when she heard the door open.

“Diggory?” she said, squinting. It was nearly curfew.

“Hello,” he said quietly. He was cupping something in his hands. He held it out to her and amber eyes peered up at her. Futhark mewed and struggled in Diggory’s hands.

“Sorry,” he said. “I just thought – if you wanted, er, non-human company – “

“Thanks, Diggory,” Rose smiled. It was genuine – she couldn’t help but smile at the sight of Futhark’s tiny face. She held out her hands for the kitten, who promptly climbed into one of Rose’s robe pockets and fell asleep.

“She’s very clever,” Diggory said awkwardly. “Well, er, that’s all. Hope your brother gets better soon.”

“Thanks,” she smiled. In her pocket, she felt the rumble of tiny purrs.

* * *

It took two days for Harry to wake up.

“’lo, Rosie,” he murmured groggily. “’ou al’righ’?” Green eyes blinked blearily up at her. They weren’t the same as hers – Harry’s practically glowed, brilliant spots of colour on his brown face. Even with his eyes half-closed with tiredness, they took her breath away.

Rose tightened her grip on Harry’s hand, choking on a sob.

“You nearly died, Hare-bear,” she whispered. She sniffled. The tears she’d been unable to cry began falling at the sheer overwhelming _relief_ that suffused her – Harry was alive, Harry was awake, Harry’s pulse was beating steadily against her fingers.

“’Dun cry,” Harry slurred. His arm twitched as if he wanted to wipe the tears from her face. With great effort, Harry peered at her, brow furrowing unhappily.

“Go back to sleep, Harry,” she whispered. “I’ll be here when you wake up.” _Idiot boy,_ she thought. He’d nearly died, had just woken up for the first time in forty-eight hours, and the very first thing he did was check on _her._ _Silly, wonderful, thoughtful boy._

“M’kay,” Harry mumbled. “Luv ‘ou, ‘osie.” His eyes slid shut. Rose stared down at him.

“Love you too, Harry,” she whispered.


	9. Year 1, Part 7

Harry was let out of the hospital wing just in time to go home for Yule. They were lucky that Hogwarts ended in time for them to celebrate Yule – it was on the 21st this year. They met Sirius with a tackle on the platform, apparating directly to the Manor.

Rose gasped at the sight. She’d never gotten used to the look of Potter Manor over Yule and hoped she never did. It looked incredible – its delicate, gliding stones sheltered with a blanket of snow, icicles gleaming in the sun. As they walked up to the front doors, an evergreen wreath hung from the door, a small bell at its center. It gave a soft, clear chime as they opened the door, the bells specially made to synergize with the energy of Yule and bring the area’s magic into harmony. The witchlights illuminating the hallways had strings of ice and snowflakes hanging from them. In the corner of the living room, an enormous pine tree stood, fairies sitting and twittering upon its branches. At the top of the tree was another witchlight, this one charmed to look like the sun.

On the night of the 21st, they burned the Yule log at sunset. Andromeda, Ted Tonks, and Dora (who’d lost a bet with Rose when the latter was eight, and thereafter had allowed Rose to call her Dora) had flooed over. The Yule log was oak this year, for strength and wisdom. Last year, with Dora applying to the aurors, it had been pine for prosperity. They stood outside in the frigid winter air, a gentle falling of snow dusting their hair, making a circle around the Yule log. Sirius set it alight with a silent _incendio,_ and together they prayed to the sunset as the Yule log burned.

_“The longest night has come once more,_

_the sun is set, and darkness fallen._

_The trees are bare, the earth asleep,_

_and the skies are cold and black._

_Yet tonight we rejoice, in this longest night,_

_embracing the darkness that enfolds us._

_We welcome the night and all that it holds,_

_as the light of the stars shines down.”_

Then, Rose as youngest, began the first line of the second prayer:

“I am grateful for that which I have.”

Harry continued:

“I am not sorrowful for that which I do not.”

Dora:

“I have more than others, less than some, but regardless,”

“I am blessed with what is mine,” everyone finished. Dora laughed and turned her hair a blinding white. The fire of the log had flared when they’d begun to speak. Now, as their prayers ended and the sun descended beneath the horizon, the log had burnt down to a stump already. As it smoldered, Sirius carefully levitated it into a box for next Yule, where the last bit would be burned.

They went back to the manor, talking and laughing. There was also the issue of –

“What do you mean you haven’t played any pranks?”

“I think Snape would have me in detention for the rest of my life if I did,” Harry said idly.

“Not if you don’t get caught,” Sirius argued.

“He’d assume it was me anyway,” Harry had sighed.

“No, he’d assume it was the Weasley twins,” Rose corrected, grinning. “Harry’s just lazy.”

“Oi! I don’t see _you_ playing any pranks.”

“Au contraire, I’m in the middle of the best one. I am, after all, a snake in badger’s clothes.”

That had gotten a round of laughs. Sirius had resumed hounding Harry on the subject of pranks until the elves brought in the feast, and then they all fell silent for a bit while they ate.

* * *

When she got back to school, she trained. She was devouring books on healing, rousing herself before dawn to run around the Quidditch pitch. She found that core of iron the Dursleys had forged and Voldemort refined and did not break. She started missing meals in the Great Hall, but that was fine – the kitchens were less than a minute away from her dorms, after all. She brewed Invigoration Draft for energy in the Room of Requirement and drank as often as she dared, toeing the line of addiction. She noticed the pallor of her skin and spent three hours forcing her magic to re-learn how to cast a glamour.

 _$You are suffering, Red One$,_ Macha had hissed.

 _$Harry was hurt$_ , she whispered. _$He nearly died and all I could do was watch$_

_$So you kill yourself in his place?$_

_$I’m not dying$_

_$Your body is not dying but your soul is withering. He would not want this for you if he knew$_

_$Don’t tell him$,_ Rose had ordered immediately. She felt the magic of the familiar bond tighten; Macha could not disobey a direct order.

(she hoped Macha would forgive her)

It didn’t matter anyway. It took Harry a week to notice, and then another week to do more than hound her. He dragged her to the hospital wing and demanded Madam Pomphrey look at her.

(she had fooled everyone, even Sprout, but she’d never been able to fool Harry)

“Foolish girl,” Madam Pomphrey had whispered. “How can you protect your brother when you can barely take care of yourself?”

Rose wondered if Madam Pomphrey had been a Slytherin. She’d homed in awfully quickly on the reason for her exhaustion, although maybe it had been obvious.

“I’m not ill,” Rose said stubbornly. “I’ve been checking myself every day with an _enuntio_ and I’m fine.”

Madam Pomphrey’s eyes narrowed. “You’re learning healing?”

“I don’t want to be helpless again,” Rose said. “I’m not a fighter.”

(she had been, once, but she’d seen too much blood spilled, seen too many of her friends die)

(she wasn’t afraid to kill but knew that every life she took was someone’s child, someone’s friend. No one went through life untouched)

(she was tired)

“Which books have you been reading?”

Rose told her. Madam Pomphrey pursed her lips. “Adderworth’s book isn’t worth the parchment it’s written on. Zheng’s better. Wait a moment-“ she hurried back to her office, ignoring Harry’s question, and came back a moment later holding a book. Rose made to grab it, but Madam Pomphrey held it out of her reach.

“I have conditions, Miss Potter. You will see me every Friday after your last class. You will miss no more than two meals in the Great Hall each week, spend at least one hour a day relaxing, and if I tell you to rest, you will rest. Adhere to these conditions and not only will I recommend you books, I will consider further tuition.”

It wasn’t even a decision. Poppy Pomphrey was one of the most celebrated healers of the modern world.

“So mote,” Rose said.

“So mote,” Madam Pomphrey smiled. It was a predator’s smile.

Sensing her vow, her magic thrummed.

* * *

“Finally going to show me where you’ve been hiding?” Harry teased. There was still a tension between them – Rose hoped that this would help lessen it. They were on the seventh floor, in front of the tapestry depicting Barnabas the Barmy trying to teach trolls ballet.

She smiled and walked three times in front of the blank stretch of wall across the tapestry.

_I need a place to practice dueling._

_I need a place to practice dueling._

_I need a place to practice dueling._

A door melted into existence. Rose took great joy in Harry’s awed expression.

“Sirius and Remus never said _anything_ about this!”

“That’s because they didn’t know,” Rose said smugly. “I asked one of the house elves – they call it the Come and Go Room.”

(it had taken her six tries to be able to open the door without being overwhelmed by the roar of fiendfyre, the memory of screams, the feeling of a broomstick gripped in her sweaty hands - )

 _(Crabbe had died here,_ she thought. _Had died, will die, might die)_

They stepped into the room. It was wide, with a tall ceiling, well-lit with witchlights floating above them. There were a series of mirrors floating around on the far end. Their size and speed were variable, as was their curvature. The goal was to aim for the mirrors, which would reflect your spell back at you. She wasn’t sure how it worked – they seemed to get more difficult the more she improved.

Harry’s mouth was hanging open. “This is _incredible,”_ he breathed.

“Isn’t it? I’ve been practicing my dueling here.”

“You better be showing me this to invite me to join.”

“But of course, big brother! Come, let us duel!”

“… You’re ridiculous, Rosie.”

(she held back, but still wiped the floor with him)

(Harry had eyed her and said _next time, don’t go easy on me)_

* * *

The look on Rose’s face when she saw Filch scrubbing at the wall outside the library was nothing short of _evil._

“Good afternoon, Mr. Filch,” she said shyly, fiddling with the strap of her bag.

Filch looked up and glared at her. “Potter,” he grunted.

“Sorry to bother you,” she said, biting on the inside of her cheek. “But I was wondering if you got my present? And I wanted to ask what you celebrated over the holidays, since I wasn’t sure.”

His voice didn’t soften but his eyes did. “I did. Yule.”

Rose lit up and wasn’t even faking it this time. “Oh, that’s wonderful! I hope you enjoy it, Mr. Filch, and happy late Yule!”

He grunted but Rose beamed at him anyways as she practically skipped to the library. She hadn’t thought to get Filch on her side in her past life. Silly of her – she knew how the downtrodden latched onto any bit of kindness, after all. She hoped he wouldn’t find out about her arrangement with Peeves – perhaps she could play it off as the innocent little girl who’d been tricked by the mean old poltergeist, but it’d damage her in his eyes anyways and she wasn’t willing to risk it. Just because she _had_ a backup plan didn’t mean she wanted to use it, after all.

She found Theodore and Greengrass at their usual table and slid in across from them, pulling out a roll of parchment for her History of Magic essay.

A shadow fell over her. Rose studiously ignored it, until a hand reached over her head and made to grab her essay. She twisted in her seat and scowled at Zabini. He ignored her, face twisting into a sneer.

“You can’t possibly think that Alfred of Wessex’s ascension to the throne contributed to the famine of 892.”

Rose narrowed her eyes at him. “Oh? Whyever not? Have you _looked_ at his tax policies?”

“Dragons burned down half the country, I really don’t think tax policies – “

Across from them, Theodore and Greengrass were trying to hush them.

“Well the policies made things _worse,_ didn’t they – “

“If they did, the effect was so small as to be negligible – “

“And how did you figure that – “

“This is the _last_ time I’m throwing you out before I get you all banned for good!” Madam Pince hissed, descending upon them like the dragon that’d once burnt half the country. Rose glared at Zabini, packing her things in a huff.

“Told you,” Theodore muttered.

“Don’t pout at me, Potter, I was kicked out too – “

“Only because you insisted on having an argument with me!”

“It takes two to argue.”

They glared at each other for a moment before Rose started giggling. She sent Filch a “Goodbye Mr. Filch!” as they left.

“That’s the most ridiculous way I’ve ever gotten myself kicked out before,” she confessed.

Greengrass’ eyebrows raised in interest. “Perfect Potter has gotten kicked out of the library _before?”_

Rose made a face. “Don’t call me that, but yes, my friends and I trend towards gossip as inevitably as the universe trends towards chaos.”

Zabini squinted. “Isn’t that a muggle theory?”

“Well, seeing as I learned it at a muggle school, I’m not surprised. And how would _you_ know about that anyway?”

“I _read,_ Potter, not every Slytherin thinks muggles are beasts.”

“I know,” Rose said, biting her lip guiltily. “I didn’t mean to imply – it came out wrong. Sorry,” she added apologetically.

There was an awkward pause, before Zabini said, “Well, don’t do it again.”

“Yes, sir!” Rose said, giving him a salute. She liked Zabini – he was funny and arguing with him was some of the best fun she’d had all year. “Er – where are we going?”

“I wanted to ask you about Charms, Rose,” Theodore said. “I’ve got a study space in the dungeons, if you want to join.”

Greengrass and Zabini gave him wide eyed looks. Theodore rolled his eyes dismissively.

“Don’t look at me like that, you know she’s trustworthy.”

Rose sent them a questioning glance as they headed towards the dungeons. Greengrass took it upon herself to explain.

“Every Slytherin is expected to find and personalize their own study space in the dungeons,” she said primly. “It’s a great honor to be shown another’s space, and an even greater honor for non-Slytherins.”

“It’s _really_ rare,” Zabini emphasized. “Not even siblings always know the other’s spaces.”

“Oh,” Rose said softly. “Thank you, Theodore. You won’t regret this, I promise.”

Theodore grinned. “You should know, though, that if you and Blaise get into another argument, I’m kicking both of you out for good.”

“Absolutely no history discussions,” Rose vowed. Zabini looked down his nose at her snobbily.

“It will be difficult to endure your ignorance, but if I must.”

“Shut up, Zabini.”

* * *

The path Theodore took twisted and wound its way through the dungeons. They passed the student potions labs, abandoned classrooms, something that looked suspiciously like cells, before finally –

“Here we are!” Theodore said with a sarcastic flourish. He pulled aside a tapestry of Wendelin the Weird and pushed on a brick behind it. The brick sank into the wall, and a whole section of it rippled and vanished, revealing a medium-sized alcove with a window, desk, and several chairs.

“How on earth did you find this place?” Rose said, eyebrows raised. She realized in retrospect that she probably could’ve found something like this for her friends, instead of going through Professor Sprout.

“My father told me,” Theodore said shortly. There was an edge to his voice that told her to change the subject.

“It’s interesting,” she said. “Want to see if I can find you a sofa?”

Greengrass frowned. “We’ve looked through most of the abandoned classrooms. Any sofas that might’ve been there were either too old or already taken by the upper years.”

“You sure about that?” she grinned. “Mimsy!”

At her name, the house elf appeared with a _crack._ “Miss Rosie is calling for Mimsy?”

“Yes,” Rose smiled. “You see, my friends have got this alcove, but they couldn’t find any sofas or cushions for it. I was wondering if you would be so kind as to – “

Mimsy beamed. “Absolutely, Miss Rosie!” She snapped her fingers and a plush green sofa and loveseat appeared, along with a low table.

“Thank you ever so much, Mimsy,” Rose gushed. “How’s Mittens?”

“Mittens is doing well, Miss Rosie!” Mimsey beamed. “She is catching many mouses again!”

“Brilliant,” she grinned. “Well, I let you go back to your work now – “

The elf disappeared with another _crack,_ leaving only the stunned faces of three Slytherins before her.

“… I thought the house elves didn’t obey students,” Theodore said at last, eyes wide.

“Mimsy’s a friend,” Rose grinned. “And friends help each other out.”

“You’re _friends_ with a house elf?” Greengrass asked skeptically.

“Her cat had kittens and a friend and I took one in,” she explained.

“Of course,” Zabini said dryly. “A house elf friend. Why didn’t _we_ think of that?”

Rose pulled a face. “Don’t get snappy with me just because _you_ never thought of it.”

“No arguments,” Theodore said firmly. “Rose, thank you for the sofa, and send my compliments to… “

“Mimsy,” she said helpfully.

“… Mimsy,” he said. “Daphne, Blaise, stop interrogating her and enjoy it.”

Rose giggled. Greengrass rolled her eyes.

“Yes, mum,” Greengrass sighed.

“And,” Theodore added, casting a stern look over them. “I think it’s time you lot are on a first-name basis, don’t you?”

“Yes, mum,” Rose sighed in the exact same tone. She and Greengrass looked at each other and giggled.

“Hello, Daphne.”

“Hello, Rose.”

“Hello, Blaise” Blaise mimicked in a falsetto. “Ow!”

Daphne, tucking her wand away, sent Rose a smirk that she returned.

* * *

After that, Blaise and Daphne began openly greeting her in the corridors and before class, ignoring the looks they got from everyone else. Rose greeted them back four times as enthusiastically to compensate, often eliciting an eye-roll or two. This open association came in handy one day in late January, when she was heading towards the library for her study group.

_“Furnunculus!”_

A squeal – high-pitched, feminine, young. Rose was running before she knew what was happening.

 _Wait,_ a voice told her just before she rounded the corner. _Wait and see what the situation is._

_You can’t afford to be reckless._

_Fine,_ Rose thought. She peered around the corner and saw a first year Slytherin – Pansy Parkinson? – getting hexed by Cameron Ogden, a fifth-year Hufflepuff.

“Ogden,” she called. “What’s going on?”

Ogden turned, grinning. “Potter. Want to help me teach this snake a lesson?”

“A lesson in what?” she frowned in apparent confusion.

A flicker of incomprehension. Ogden frowned at her.

“Well, her father’s a Death Eater,” he said, as if speaking to a particularly stupid child.

“But – but Parkinson herself – she can’t be that bad, surely? I – I’m friends with Blaise Zabini, and he’s – well, if Blaise is alright, then I don’t see why Parkinson - ” she admitted shamefully, calling a flush to her face and biting her lip.

Ogden looked exasperated and a little uncomfortable. “Listen, Potter, you know she’s probably been raised the same way – “

“She’s in my year, though,” Rose said. “I don’t – she seems alright. It just… it feels wrong.” She looked up at Ogden with big, imploring green eyes, and he crumbled.

“Ugh – alright – _fine,_ Potter, you – “ he sighed exasperatedly. “Just let me know if one of them annoys you, yeah?”

“I will,” she said shyly. “Thanks, Ogden.”

He shook his head and stowed his wand away, brushing her as he passed. She knew he thought she was a naïve little girl who’d one day come to her senses, but that was fine. She couldn’t afford to make enemies right now – once she’d built up her reputation, she’d be able to take a more heavy-handed approach.

She dispelled the jinxes on Parkinson and held out a hand. The other girl glared at her.

“I don’t need your _pity,_ Potter,” she spat, getting up herself.

Rose shrugged, dropping her naïve-little-girl mask, her perfect-Hufflepuff one sliding seamlessly in place. “Not pity, just a sense of fairness,” she said, flashing a smile. “See you around, Parkinson.”


	10. Year 1, Part 8

Time passed. She met Madam Pomphrey every week; she and Harry kept her frenzy quiet. Rose had fooled everyone else and both were wary of showing the world how well she could lie. (Rose thought Harry was reassured by her inability to lie to him; he knew what she was, though, and loved her for it)

(not the reincarnation. No one knew about the reincarnation)

(but Harry knew that for all she acted happy and friendly and sociable, she would smile just as widely at an enemy writhing in pain at her feet)

(she might be tired of death but everything else was fair game)

(she wondered if Harry was ever afraid of her)

* * *

(he wasn’t. He hid it better, didn’t embrace it as she did, but they had once been the same)

(she would figure it out one day)

(but not yet)

* * *

Of course, no matter how much she’d hoped, Harry wouldn’t just _let go_ of the fact that Rose had been ready and willing to run herself into the ground to try and protect him. He dragged her into the Room of Requirement one day in February, made to look like her bedroom at Potter Manor. It was large and airy, sunlight streaming in through the windows. Above them, stars glittered on the ceiling, motes of light occasionally breaking off and drifting lazily to the ground. In a corner next to the windows, the wooden floor turned abruptly to rock. They had converted a corner of her room into a rocky outcrop over a small pond. Macha loved sunning herself on the rocks, stretching out her wings, and was (surprisingly, given the wings) a graceful swimmer. The Room couldn’t create life, but in the real Potter Manor that pond held little fish. Sometimes Sirius snuck in a frog and they’d all wake up to her screams when it inevitably made its way onto her face.

It felt too cheerful a place for this conversation, but both of them felt safe here. When they were younger (and even now sometimes), Harry would sneak into her room at night when he couldn’t sleep.

Harry sat beside her on the bed, staring down at his hands. He looked lost and confused and hurt, and Rose looked away; she couldn’t bear to see his face.

“Why would you do something like that?” Harry asked quietly.

“You almost died,” she whispered. “You almost died, and I couldn’t do anything but watch.”

“It was an accident,” Harry said. “I’m fine now, aren’t I?”

 _(No, it wasn’t,_ she wanted to say. _It was Quirrell,_ she wanted to say)

(but this Harry had never been challenged to a midnight duel. He didn’t know about Fluffy. Hagrid had not taken him to Gringotts to pick up a grubby little package. He had not hovered over the forbidden forest on his broom, overhearing a conversation. He told her about the pains in his scar but rolled his eyes when she tried to warn him about Quirrell)

(“He’s pathetic,” Harry had said.

“He only _seems_ pathetic. Harry, please.”

“I still think you’re being paranoid, Rosie, but I’ll be careful around him, how about that?”)

“You’re fine _this_ time. What about the next time? I need to be ready to –“ She spoke quickly, words tripping over each other in her haste to get them out, wanting him to understand -

“To what? Save me? That’s not your job, Rose. Sirius and Remus –“

“Weren’t here this time. What if next time this happens, I’m all alone? What if I run for help and you die in the meantime?”

(it _was_ her job, though)

(Harry was her, she was Harry – they were twins, two parts of a single soul, one and the same)

“… You still shouldn’t have pushed yourself so hard.”

“I won’t anymore. Madam Pomphrey and I made a deal.”

Harry raised his head and stared at her. “I meant that I don’t _ever_ want you to put your life at risk for someone else again. Not even me.”

“I wasn’t about to die, Harry. I’m fine.”

“You’re fine _this_ time,” Harry echoed. “If you die for me, I’ll never forgive you.”

She met his gaze with equal resolve.

“Then I’ll die happy, because at least you’ll be alive to resent me.”

(is what she wanted to say)

But Rose remembered that, no matter how old he acted, her brother was still a child. He was eleven. He didn’t need that kind of weight on his shoulders, not when he had an unknown prophecy hanging over his head already.

 _(how like Dumbledore,_ her mind sneered, _to keep things from him for the Greater Good)_

 _(shut up,_ she told it fiercely)

She leaned forward and hugged him tightly. Harry hugged her back just as hard, his fingers digging into her back.

“Don’t die for me,” he said quietly. “Promise.”

Rose closed her eyes. “I promise,” she said.

(she hoped she could keep that promise)

“Good,” Harry said. “Now tell me what I can do to help.”

* * *

“The incantation for the Locking Spell is _colloportus,”_ Professor Flitwick squeaked. “The wand movement, as you can see in your books on page 231, is the swish and jab we’ve been practicing. Please practice on the locks in front of you.”

 _“Colloportus,”_ Rose said, swishing and jabbing. The lock in front of her closed with a _click._

“One point to Hufflepuff,” Professor Flitwick smiled. “Well done, Miss Potter. Perhaps you could unlock it as well?”

They hadn’t covered the Unlocking Charm yet. At this point, Rose thought the professor just wanted to give her an opportunity to show off.

 _“Alohomora,”_ Rose said, pointing her wand at the lock. It clicked open, and Flitwick awarded Hufflepuff another point.

“Teacher’s pet,” Justin coughed beside her. Rose pulled a face at him but didn’t deny it.

“Jealousy is unbecoming,” she teased. She ran through Justin’s most recent attempt in her mind. “Try pronouncing the ‘p’ more.”

 _“Coll-o-PORT-us,”_ Justin said. His lock clicked closed and he beamed. “I take it back, you’re brilliant.”

“Thanks, Justin,” she laughed. On her other side, Susan gave an audible sigh of exasperation.

By the time class had ended, Rose had won Hufflepuff an additional five points for helping her classmates. Roger Malone and Sally-Anne Perks grinned at her in thanks as they streamed out of the class and headed down the stairs towards the Great Hall. Rose allowed herself to be drawn into a discussion on the Locking Spell with Padma Patil, who’d gotten it soon after she had, and pretended not to notice she’d been heading towards the Ravenclaw table until Susan called her name tentatively.

“Rose?”

Rose glanced up as if in surprise, then looked back at Padma.

“There’s no rule about sitting with other Houses,” she ventured. Padma, bless her soul, sent Susan a reassuring grin.

“You can’t be asking a Ravenclaw to cut off an intellectual discussion,” she gasped dramatically. Susan laughed.

“Never. I suppose we’ll see you in Potions, then?”

“Yes. Thanks, Susan!” Rose beamed. On the inside, she was cackling. She turned back to Padma.

“Anyway, I really don’t think muggle lockpicks would work on a lock locked with the spell. _Colligo_ means ‘to bind’ in Latin, not _cincinno,_ which is ‘to lock,’ which implies that it’s a _binding_ spell, not just a locking one.”

“And you think that ‘to bind’ implies some sort of continuity?”

“That’s exactly what I think. You know, we could just ask around to see if anyone knows a muggle lockpicking technique,” Rose laughed. Padma pouted.

“But this debate is so interesting!”

“Maybe later, then,” Rose acquiesced. Padma laughed.

* * *

Madam Pomphrey had been one of the few adults Rose had been able to trust. When she’d returned to Hogwarts for her seventh (eighth? No one was ever quite sure) year, they’d learned about supplement potions. She’d recognized the potion as one of the more common ones Madam Pomphrey had given her during her many stays – its bright pink was very distinctive. Next time she’d landed herself in the hospital wing (someone had pushed Draco Malfoy down the stairs. He would’ve broken his neck had she not broken his fall), Madam Pomphrey had tried to give her another supplement potion.

“I don’t think I need it anymore,” she’d told her. “I’m never going back there.”

Madam Pomphrey had frowned at her. “I hadn’t been aware you’d gotten your Healing license, Miss Potter.”

Rose had relented. Later she’d learned about the long-lasting effects of malnutrition, which the supplement potion worked to mitigate, and cried in Hermione’s arms for fifteen minutes.

Ron, bless his tactless heart, had been far more concerned with the reason she had ended up there in the first place.

“The _ferret?_ ” He’d said in disbelief. “You hurt yourself to save the _ferret_?”

Rose had shrugged. “I couldn’t just watch him die.”

Ron and Hermione had exchanged a look. Hermione had sighed about her ‘saving people thing’. Ron had made her swear to never do it again.

(“… You haven’t got a crush on him or anything, do you?”

“Ron!”

“What?! It’s a valid question! Are we sure she hasn’t been dosed with a love potion? She’s never given a rat’s arse about Malfoy before and now she’s breaking his falls with her own body.”

“I don’t have a crush on Draco Malfoy, Ron.”

“… That’s exactly what you’d say if you did.”)

(he’d been a prejudiced git, but he’d abandoned her twice and both times he’d come back. He’d never left her again after that, had defended her ferociously against anyone who would criticize her)

(he had just proposed to Hermione before Rose had been ki-)

 _(no_ , her mind whispered. _Don’t go there. Not yet)_

* * *

The day after her and Harry’s talk, they gathered their friends in the Study Room. Rose had finally decided to come clean.

(as well as she could, anyway; some things she couldn’t tell anyone about)

“Does this mean you’re finally going to tell us what you’ve been up to?” Hermione asked.

Rose stared. “What.”

“We know you better than that, Rose,” Hermione said disapprovingly. Behind her, Harry smirked.

“Neville and I convinced her not to push,” Theodore said. He sipped his tea, looking the epitome of the lounging, snobbish pureblood. “We figured we’d wait ‘til Harry got out of the hospital wing to knock some sense back into your head.”

“… and if he hadn’t been able to?”

“I’m afraid we can’t tell you that, Rose,” Hermione said primly. She tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “There’s no guarantee this won’t happen again, although I must say I’m glad it didn’t come to that.”

That sounded… horrifyingly ominous. She glanced at Harry, who evidently hadn’t known by the look on his face: a mixture of awe and fear. Rose could relate.

“… I thought I was being subtle,” Rose said weakly. Did these eleven-year-old versions of her friends really know her that well? _That’s unfair,_ Rose reprimanded herself. Hermione, Neville, and Theodore were people in their own right; they weren’t just undeveloped copies. They were different people too, having been through different experiences.

(she seemed to forget that all too often)

“No one apart from us and Susan noticed,” Hermione reassured her.

“ _Susan_ noticed?” Rose said in disbelief. Had _everything_ she’d thought been a lie?

“ _Of course_ she noticed, you share a room with her!”

“You’re being awfully slow today,” Theodore noted idly. “Are you feeling alright?”

“ _No._ My entire image of myself has been shaken!” _Everything she’d thought had been a lie._ She was definitely _not_ alright, her brain was a half-sentence away from leaking out her ears!

Harry sighed. “She’s being dramatic. She’s just shocked she’s not the cleverest, sneakiest person in the world. Give her a moment.”

Hermione hummed sympathetically. “Well, it had to happen sometime.”

Neville snorted softly. “You’re one to talk. Didn’t you have an identity crisis when Rose beat you in Transfiguration?”

“… I got over it, didn’t I?”

“You didn’t speak to her for three days.”

“Shut _up_ , Harry.”

Theodore looked delighted. “Oh? Why haven’t I heard about this? What a delightful piece of gossip.”

“… You’re a prat, Nott.”

(she spent four days in a horrified daze, reconfiguring her self-image)

(they waited for her patiently and she loved them for it)

She didn’t forget about Susan, of course.

(“Does this mean I can finally know where you’re sneaking off to all the time?” 

“... I didn’t realize you’d noticed.”

“Hermione’s right, you really _are_ thick sometimes. I _live_ with you, Rose. What kind of idiot would I be if I hadn’t noticed my roommate regularly disappearing for hours?”)

(she asked her friends if she could invite Susan into their group.

“ _Finally,”_ Hermione exclaimed.

“Maybe now she’ll stop bothering us for information all the time,” Neville sighed.

“As long as she doesn’t curse me on sight,” Theodore said.

Harry, the little shit, cackled)

* * *

She got them back when she showed them the secret passageways though. Hearing their yelps as they were doused in a green goop was immensely satisfying. It stained, but only in places usually covered by robes. Something about the goop reacted oddly to the enchantments woven into robes (she wasn’t entirely sure). Remus had modified an existing potion and sent it to her when she’d promised photos.

She sent them.

Remus charmed his letter to echo his laughs and she set it off when they were all in the Badger Hole.

(Theodore had won over Harry and Susan had immediately taken to the name. With Neville as neutral mediator, she and Hermione hadn’t stood a chance)

* * *

Neville had gotten a new wand over Yule. His spells were ridiculously overpowered, as he’d been shoving his magic through a glorified stick this whole time, so they all agreed he ought to learn control before practicing dueling and learning spells with the rest of them. He’d grinned sheepishly, but there was a pleased flush on his cheeks. His confidence had improved dramatically with evidence of his magic and the support of his friends.

Of course, there were still accidents.

_(“Bombarda!”_

_“Neville!”_

“Sorry, sorry, I didn’t think it’d be that explosive – “

“It’s the _exploding spell,_ Longbottom, what do you mean ‘you didn’t think it’d be explosive’?!”)

(or, Rose thought, examining the pleased glint in Neville’s eye, they weren’t really accidents at all)

(which… well, fair enough. Theodore didn’t exactly hold back with his snark)

* * *

Her lessons with Madam Pomphrey were going well. As Ostara passed, Rose had finally gone beyond theory and basic diagnostic charms and had begun medical and healing spells. Of course, just because she’d _begun_ medical spells didn’t mean she was good at them. It was a novelty to not get a spell perfectly correct within the first five attempts – for all that it was disheartening, there was a small part of Rose that kind of liked it.

“Show me your bandaging charm,” Madam Pomphrey ordered. They were in the hospital wing, which was empty, surprisingly enough. 

“ _Ferula,_ ” Rose cast. Bandages appeared out of thin air and wrapped around the leg of the dummy in front of her.

Madam Pomphrey cast a silent _aguamenti_. The bandages shed the water at first but soon soaked through.

“Better,” Madam Pomphrey smiled.

Rose wilted. “They’re soaked.”

“But still in place.” She tapped the tip of Rose’s nose. “Don’t look so glum, Miss Potter. You’ve made astounding improvement.”

Rose sighed but she was slightly cheered. She had had no idea _ferula_ could be so complex. A simple one conjured plain cotton bandages and eased the pain slightly. Madam Pomphrey’s _ferula_ were water-, fire-, and dirt-resistant, eased pain moderately, and absorbed a small fraction of any residual damaging magic.

“ _Ferula_ can be used for more than broken bones,” Madam Pomphrey had told her. “Cast it on a snake bite to draw out a bit of the venom. Cast it on a wound from _diffindo_ that _episkey_ won’t heal and it’ll keep the wound stabilized and slow blood loss. Depending on the relative power of the _diffindo_ and _ferula_ , it might even heal the wound a bit.”

“Thank you, Madam Pomphrey,” Rose said earnestly. “I really appreciate this.”

There was an amused glint in Madam Pomphrey’s eye. “Don’t thank me just yet, Miss Potter. We’ve only spoken about a few simple charms for physical ailments. There’s still spell damage and countercurses, magical creatures, and potions accidents. There’s plenty more to learn.”

“I look forward to it,” she beamed.

The matron gave her a small smile. “Read chapter 5 of _Everyday Healing_ for next week, Miss Potter. Run along now.”

Rose grinned and left with a spring in her step.

* * *

Harry and Rose stayed at school over the Easter break. With exams coming up in just over a month, they’d been inundated with enough study schedules from Hermione that that fact had been ingrained into their brains. Studying, however, was a cruel and unusual form of torture for Rose. This was _first year material,_ after all, and she’d already re-learned the theory in far more detail than she had the first time around just by paying attention during class and doing her homework. It was shocking how much that did to further her comprehension – studying now felt like a monotonous review, and she often had to go to the Room of Requirement and blow up a few stone columns just to let off some steam. She tried to keep her boredom discreet though – many of her friends in the study group were legitimately studying, and it’d be rude to showcase her knowledge so openly. Exams themselves were just as easy – Rose would be incredibly ashamed of herself if she scored anything less than Outstanding.

In all honesty… she’d forgotten about the dragon.

* * *

“Guys,” Harry said, slamming his hands down onto the table. “You _would not_ believe what Hagrid just did.”

“Oh, no,” Neville sighed. Hermione patted him on the back sympathetically.

“He’s got a _dragon,”_ Harry said emphatically. “An actual _dragon egg_. It’s sitting in his bloody fireplace right now.”

Susan stared. “… but it’s illegal to keep a dragon in Britain,” she said weakly.

Theodore rolled his eyes. “Honestly, I’m more concerned with the fact that soon there’ll be a _baby dragon_ on the grounds.”

“He lives in a _wooden house,”_ Hermione said miserably.

“Believe me, I know,” Harry sighed. “But he won’t be moved. Which is why I need your help.”

“I’m not helping you smuggle a dragon out of Hogwarts,” Rose said firmly. She couldn’t believe she’d forgotten about Norbert, but in her defence she’d lived through twenty years since it’d happened. The Norbert thing had been a catastrophe all-round though, especially since –

“No one saw you, did they?” She asked worriedly.

“I’m not _that_ stupid,” Harry scoffed. “I have ways of staying hidden.” Hermione and Neville grinned slightly, and Rose slumped with relief. Harry was far cleverer than she’d been; she doubted he’d ever leave the Invisibility Cloak lying in the Astronomy Tower.

“Anyway, I need you to help me come up with the plan to get the dragon out and keep Hagrid out of trouble.”

Susan bit her lip. “Are you sure that Hagrid _should_ get out of trouble though?” At the outraged looks coming from the Gryffindors, she hurriedly continued. “I mean, if he doesn’t see anything wrong with having a dragon egg, what’s stopping him from doing something like this again?”

Rose thought of the acromantula colony in the forest. She liked Hagrid, but…

“He means well,” Harry said stubbornly.

“She’s got a point, though,” Theodore said mildly.

“I agree with Theodore,” Rose put in. “Look, you know I like Hagrid as much as you do, Harry, Hermione, Neville. But you must admit that he’s the kind of person who’d do something like this again if he could. I don’t want him thrown in Azkaban, but I also don’t want to look over my shoulder for dragons or acromantula or whatever for the next seven years.”

“I think we should go to the Headmaster,” Hermione said decisively. “He let Hagrid stay on after he was expelled, didn’t he? He’ll know what to do.”

Everyone hesitated. They all disliked the Headmaster’s politics but…

“I think it’s a good idea,” Neville said hesitantly. “I’m not his biggest fan, but I’m pretty sure he _does_ care about Hagrid. He’s also Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot; he won’t let Hagrid get thrown in Azkaban.”

Susan made a face. “No offense, but I’d like to stay out of it if that’s alright. I’m not that close to Hagrid and my Aunty doesn’t want me near the Headmaster too much anyway.”

“What? Why?” Hermione said, then blushed at the looks she got.

 _Later,_ Susan mouthed at her.

“My dad would flay me if he found out,” Theodore sighed. “Sorry.” He didn’t sound very apologetic at all.

“Fine,” Hermione said. “Harry, Rose…?”

“I’m the witness, aren’t I?” Harry said.

“I suppose we don’t have a choice,” Rose sighed.

“Make sure Hagrid understands he can’t do this again, alright?” Susan asked. “I’ll have to tell my Auntie otherwise.”

Hermione grimaced. “Don’t worry, Susan. We’ll make that _very_ clear.”

* * *

In the end, Norbert was smuggled to Romania. Rose wasn’t sure how, but she supposed Dumbledore must’ve had a lot of connections. He said he would speak to Hagrid about raising dangerous creatures near schoolchildren, after they’d delivered Susan’s warning. No points were lost, and so no one became pariahs. The whole thing made her wonder about how Charlie Weasley had explained the sudden appearance of a baby dragon – and exactly what sort of friends he had that he could ask them to smuggle a dragon out of another country and they’d happily drop their things and help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last chapter before quirrellmort!


	11. Year 1, Part 9

During her first week, Rose had set up a simple motion-detecting ward configuration and carved it onto an edge of the trapdoor. It had never activated, meaning that either the Mirror of Erised was already in place, or Dumbledore had another way of accessing that last chamber. Personally, Rose suspected the latter. Though the trials were simple enough that a trio of first years had bypassed them, they still ate valuable time. Rose supposed that was what he’d been going for in her past life – maybe he’d planned on trapping Voldemort in that final chamber to get proof of his continued existence. With the lure of both prophecy child and Philosopher’s Stone at Hogwarts, it was an undeniably clever plan that she’d admire if it hadn’t put hundreds of children in danger. And if the prophecy child hadn’t been her brother.

The night after her last exam, she felt it activate. She sent a silencing charm at Susan’s bed curtains in a well-practiced motion, put on her shoes and robes, and ran.

* * *

“I wondered whether I’d be seeing you here, Miss Potter,” Quirrell said pleasantly. “Though I must confess I expected your brother.”

Rose swallowed. This was quite possibly the stupidest thing she’d ever done. It was stupid and reckless, and Sirius was going to kill her if Harry didn’t get there first but –

She had to know.

“No offense, Professor,” Rose said, keeping her voice steady as her heart pumped adrenaline through her veins. Every instinct she had screamed at her to run; it took everything she had to refuse. “But I’m not really here for you.”

At that, he turned. His eyes had gone cold. They glowed a familiar red and she felt a spike of horror rip through her. There was no face on the back of Quirrell’s turban. She didn’t know if there was a Quirrell at all. She stared at the patch of skin between his eyes.

“I’d appreciate if you would explain that, Miss Potter.”

She straightened. What difference did it make? She was here, she was facing Voldemort. Albeit differently than she had last time, but she’d still seen her mother craft her protection. She put her faith in Lily Potter and soldiered on. “Harry tells me everything, you know. He told me his scar hurt during the Welcoming Feast and he felt something knocking against his shields. He thought it was Snape. I disagreed.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Snape is a Slytherin. He was so openly antagonistic to Harry that I couldn’t believe he’d do a thing against him. Harry thought Snape had saved him because there were witnesses.”

Terrifyingly, Quirrell – no, _Voldemort_ – smiled. “Yes, Severus does seem the type, doesn’t he? Next to him, who would suspect p-p-poor, st-stuttering, P-Professor Quirrell?” His eyes sharpened. “Only you and Severus, it would seem. I must confess I’m rather surprised you weren’t in Slytherin, Miss Potter. You seem far more Slytherin than Hufflepuff.”

“The Hat would agree.”

“And you don’t?”

“No. Everyone trusts a Hufflepuff, Professor.” Rose was horrified to find herself _enjoying_ the conversation. This man had killed her parents. He’d killed dozens, hundreds, countless innocents. But he was clever and witty and was the consummate Slytherin.

(she had always liked Slytherins)

Voldemort laughed. “Are you here to stop me, Miss Potter? I find myself reluctant to kill you; you’re unexpectedly amusing.”

Rose licked her lips. “I actually wanted to ask you some questions.”

His eyes gleamed and grew brighter. She could feel his magic now, seductive and familiar, heavy in the air, but _this_ Voldemort was holding a civil conversation with her. _Her_ Voldemort had screamed and snarled and taunted, but this one watched and waited and smiled. There were no monologues. She suspected that this Voldemort would not have given her back her wand in the graveyard. “Go on, then. Ask away.”

(or perhaps not? Why was he reluctant to kill her? When had reluctance ever stopped him before?)

(how well did he know her? How much had he seen?)

“Why do you let your followers kill muggleborns?”

His smiled widened. She knew he’d noticed the way she’d phrased her question. “I suspect you know the answer to that already.”

“Because you need power. In our world, most of that is held by purebloods. I don’t think you believe in pureblood supremacy, but you let them think you did so you had their support.”

“Very good, Miss Potter,” Voldemort said, giving her a slow, sarcastic clap. “Yes, the killing of muggleborns was a necessary evil.”

“’There is no good or evil. There is only power, and those too weak to seek it.’”

Voldemort laughed. “I see you’ve found my old articles.

“Yes, they were… interesting, to say the least. But there’s still one thing I don’t understand: What about my brother’s fall? Was that you as well?”

Voldemort tilts his head, considering. “Why do you ask?” From him, they both knew it was practically a confession.

“I want to know why,” Rose whispered. She met his eyes. “You saw him lead the ritual on Samhain. You know he might be swayed to your side.”

“He’s a threat,” Voldemort said simply. “You understand, don’t you? The best way to neutralize a threat is to kill it before it kills you.”

 _My brother is not an_ it.

(Voldemort had forgotten that just because she belonged in Slytherin did not mean she didn’t belong in Hufflepuff)

His eyes narrowed and she went cold. The thought had drifted through her mind but – how did he – ?

“Your shields are impressive for your age,” he said. “But I’ve been a master of legilimency for longer than you’ve been alive.” He brought his wand down in a sudden slash and Rose dropped into a crouch, but she was too slow and was bounded by his _incarcerous_ anyways. With another flick of his wand, she was levitated upright until she stood in front of the mirror.

“Tell me, Potter,” he snarled. “What do you see?”

 _Now_ he reminded her of the Voldemort she’d known. It was almost reassuring to see his face twisted in obvious anger and impatience. Had he been acting that whole time, then? Or was _this_ the act?

 _Focus,_ she reprimanded herself. She stared into the Mirror of Erised, and saw herself. She looked older – in her thirties, maybe. Harry stood beside her, grinning, Sirius and Remus waving over her shoulder. Her parents were there too, and Hermione, Theodore, Susan, Padma, her friends getting along regardless of House or politics or blood status. The crowd behind them stretched onwards, and she spotted Parvati, Fay Dunbar, Mandy Brocklehurst – her yearmates.

Herself, older. Her family, alive and happy. Hogwarts, united and prejudice-free.

“I see… I see my family,” she whispered. She was half-expecting to get the Stone, but no – she didn’t want the Stone at all, did she? She knew that if she got it, she wouldn’t be able to stop Voldemort from getting it. She twisted her wrist and breathed out a _diffindo,_ cutting her bonds as she fell to the ground. The four feet between them made all the difference – he hadn’t expected a firstie to have either the skill or power to break his bonds, the Severing Charm had only just been taught, after all, and the man had gotten complacent and underestimated her.

She sprang to her feet, ducked to the side, yelled a _diffindo_ that he dodged easily but that was fine – she was small and fast and she zigzagged the short distance between them in a burst of speed and lunged, one hand grabbing his wrist to aim it away from her and the other grabbing his face. She’d wanted to block his vision so he couldn’t aim at her without risking hitting himself but –

( _he had made Harry bleed)_

she felt something squishy at the tip of her fingers –

 _(the Hat would’ve never put me in a House I didn’t belong. I might be more Slytherin, but I_ choose _Hufflepuff)_

and **pushed**.

_(because that was what it comes down to: choice)_

_(what kind of person do I want to be?)_

Voldemort screamed. He dropped his wand and tried to push her away, but she dug her fingers in deeper and latched onto the inside of his eye socket. She felt his bones scratch at her arms. She could feel his skin burn at her touch, blackening and cracking open to the flesh beneath. She revelled in his screams.

_(he had made Harry **bleed** ) _

They burned. Her entire world was pain. She forgot why she was here, who she was fighting, who she was. All she knew was that she couldn’t let go.

(she had a core of pure loyalty)

(in both her lives, that had never changed) 

* * *

She woke up in the study at Potter Manor, Fleamont and Euphemia’s empty portrait in front of her. She was sitting in one of the armchairs, a cup of tea steaming in front of her on the desk. Across, in a chair that had once been Fleamont’s and then James’, Death watched her with those unfathomable eyes.

“This isn’t King’s Cross,” she said dumbly.

“No, it isn’t,” he agreed. “In your past life, that platform represented change. But you’ve led a different life here.” He tilted his head at the tea. “Drink.”

She sipped at it obediently. It was Remus’ special blend.

“Am I dead?”

“Almost,” Death said. His voice was toneless; he could’ve been discussing the weather. “But not quite.”

Rose stared at her cup. “Oh. Why am I here, then?”

Death tilted his head. “I wanted to see you. Of all my Masters, you’re by far the most interesting.”

“There are others?”

“Of course. You know there are an infinite number of worlds. It follows that there are an infinite number of people with Peverell blood who have fulfilled the requirements.”

“How – ?”

“Hush,” Death said absently. He was still studying her over the tips of his fingers. “You know there are easier and less painful ways to die, don’t you? If you had wanted to die, all you had to do was ask.”

She bristled at the condescending note in his voice. “I’m not suicidal.”

“No? Then why in the name of Morrigan would you seek out Voldemort for a _conversation_? Did you think he’d just let you skip on your merry way afterwards?”

“I had to know if he might be persuaded to spare Harry.”

“ _Oh, you_ had _to, did you?_ ” Death snarled. He was gripping his armrests tightly. The shadows darkened and quivered. “You _had_ to – “

She woke.

* * *

There was a glint of gold above her. It was the Snitch! Rose tried to lift her hand to catch it, but she blinked and –

Albus Dumbledore peered down at her. On her other side sat Harry, who looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

“Pro – “she coughed, her throat dry. Wordlessly, Harry handed over a glass of water and put a straw to her lips. She drank thirstily.

“Thanks, ‘arry,” she mumbled. Harry said nothing. His face was eerily blank. Worried, Rose gave his hand a hesitant squeeze. “’Re you alright?”

“No,” Harry said, very quietly. “I’m not at all alright. I woke up screaming in the middle of the night, feeling like I was being burned alive, and was halfway to the third floor before I crashed into Professor Dumbledore. We went to the _forbidden third floor corridor,_ where he pulled your body off of what appeared to once be our defence professor. I couldn’t tell him a thing about anything – I didn’t know why you were there or what you’d been trying to do. I’m supposed to be –“

Harry’s face crumpled. “I’m supposed to be your _brother_. You’re my _twin_ , my best friend – I thought you were dead and I had no idea how or why – “ his voice broke and he curled in on himself, shaking. Rose tried to pull herself up to hug him, but realized she was covered in bandages and could barely move. She and Dumbledore watched as Harry pulled out a handkerchief and blew his nose, never letting go of her hand.

He stared at her with miserable green eyes. “Why were you even there in the first place? Were you going after – Dumbledore told me about the Philosopher’s Stone - ”

“Quirrell was after it,” Rose said. “I didn’t – I don’t want eternal life -”

(Merlin, the irony)

“I don’t want riches, not that we need it, you’ve seen how Sirius goes on – “

“Then why were you there?!” Harry cried. “Why did _you_ try to stop him? Why not someone – _anyone_ – else?”

 _I wanted to talk to Voldemort,_ she couldn’t say. _I wanted to ask him if he could spare you._

“I had to,” she said weakly, knowing it wasn’t good enough. Harry knew she was lying – she could see it in his eyes. He looked like she’d slapped him.

“That was a very brave thing you did, Miss Potter,” Dumbledore said, speaking for the first time.

Rose met his eyes, thinking of nothing but the feel of Quirrell’s skin crumbling beneath her fingers. “It was stupid. I thought – “

An idea occurred to her. A terrible, awful, _wonderful_ idea. She’d had a plan for this, of course, but this was _so much better -_

“I knew he was after the Stone,” she whispered, glancing away and staring at her hands. “But I wondered if – I go into the Forbidden Forest sometimes, to feed the Thestrals, and one time I overheard him and Snape talking – it sounded like Snape was threatening him. I started watching both of them after that, but then Snape saved Harry when he could’ve easily let him die – I saw him afterwards, he looked _exhausted_ – so I figured he was probably fine. I – I went down the corridor the first week of school. I’d read a myth about Orpheus and how he’d gotten past the Cerberus in the underworld with music, so I sang a bit and it went straight to sleep. I’d gotten past the door with an _alohamora_ and saw the trapdoor – I wasn’t really interested in whatever it was guarding but figured it had to be important if there was a _Cerberus_ guarding it. I added a ward to the trapdoor to let me know if anyone opened it – I figured I could run and tell a professor, since I’d been in the room for nearly twenty minutes and no one had come.”

“But why didn’t you?” Harry asked quietly.

She swallowed. “Because – because I remember the night our parents died,” she whispered. “You know I’m sensitive to magic – one day I hung back after Defence to ask Quirrell and question and – “ Rose swallowed and squeezed her eyes shut. “He felt like You-Know-Who,” she whispered. She heard Harry gasp.

When she opened her eyes, Dumbledore looked grave. “As I suspected,” he said. “Call him Voldemort, Miss Potter. Fear of the name increases fear of the thing itself.”

“But Voldemort isn’t his given name,” Rose argued. “You-Know-Who makes him sound like a storybook villain.”

( _and I once got us captured because I forgot about the Taboo_ )

“Fair enough, I suppose. To each their own,” Dumbledore said, looking amused. “So, you confronted him?”

“I wanted to ask him why he killed our parents,” Rose whispered. “I – he came for _us_ that night.” She looked at Harry. “ _Us,_ not our parents. Mum tried – she tried to shield us – he told her to step out of the way but she _wouldn’t –_ and I never told you because I knew you’d blame yourself but I wanted to know why – “ her voice broke. “Why _us?_ We’re not – we’re not prodigies or geniuses or – and we were _one,_ I didn’t understand why – “

“And so, you asked,” Dumbledore finished quietly. Rose nodded. She was crying. “He didn’t say,” she whispered. She looked up at Dumbledore.

“Sir,” she said. “Do you know – do you know why – “

“Why Voldemort tried to kill you?” Dumbledore said gently. “My dear, the truth is a terrible and powerful thing. I fear at the moment you are far too young – “

“She’s too young for the truth, but she’s not too young to die,” Harry said angrily. He glared at Dumbledore. “Rose nearly _died_ for the truth – don’t you think she deserves _something?_ ”

Dumbledore looked very sad. “You are a child – both of you. It is a heavy burden to bear –“

“I’d rather bear a heavy burden than have my sister dead,” Harry said.

The Headmaster looked pained. “I must – I’m so sorry, my dear boy, but I cannot.”

“No,” Harry said. “You could, but you won’t.”

“Professor,” Rose said quietly. “What happened to the stone?”

“Destroyed,” Dumbledore said. “Nicolas and Perenell have enough elixir to put their affairs in order and then, they will go on to the next great adventure.”

When the Headmaster left, he turned back to her. Her brother pinned her in place with his gaze.

“You’re going to tell me why you lied, later,” he said. His tone brooked no discussion. Rose nodded.

Harry’s lips thinned. He leaned forward and hugged her gently, not allowing any of his weight to fall. He buried his face in her hair for a moment, breathing deeply. When he pulled back, his eyes gleamed with unshed tears.

“No matter why you did it,” he said. “Don’t do anything like that again. Not without me.” His eyes narrowed at her face – she didn’t know what she looked like, but from Harry’s expression he didn’t like it.

“I’m not a child. I might not be as good at magic as you are, but I can help you plan, at least. I…” he faltered. “I know you have secrets. I’m not asking you to tell me everything, just… tell me enough to let me help you. If you say you can’t tell me something, I’ll respect that, I swear.” Harry’s eyes were earnest, pleading. She looked at them and saw the shadow of the past few days, where he’d stayed at her side. She felt the press of his fingers against her wrist, realizing with a start that he was feeling her pulse.

Rose had always been aware of her near-fanatical loyalty towards Harry, that voice inside her that whispered to her to protect him always, at any cost. He was _hers,_ they had once been the same soul, and the remnants of that soul-deep connection lingered in the strength of their twin bond.

She’d never once considered that it might be reciprocated.

(stupid – just because he was a Gryffindor didn’t mean he was a two-dimensional cutout of bravery and recklessness)

(she didn’t have the monopoly on loyalty just because she was a Hufflepuff)

“I will,” she said quietly.

Harry’s fingers tightened around her own. She saw something in him settle, like an exhale after holding a breath for far too long.

“Good.”

* * *

Rose was late to the end-of-year feast that night. She was hit, again, with a strong feeling of déjà vu. The Hall was full. An enormous green banner hung behind the High Table, the silver Slytherin serpent looking around. With a jolt, Rose realized she could hear very faint, oddly accented Parseltongue.

 _$Seven years in a row$,_ it hissed. _$Salazar would be proud$_

 _He really would, wouldn’t he?_ Rose thought faintly. She ignored the hush that fell upon the students, sitting down between Susan and Hannah. The Hufflepuffs crowded around them, glaring at anyone who tried to stand up to get a look at her.

Rose thought about Slytherin. She thought about the way the other three houses looked at them in the hallways; how the way they grouped together had once been intimidating but now seemed defensive. There were bigots in that house, she knew, but the rest were just children. Children who’d been unfortunate enough to want to make something more of themselves, children like Tom Riddle who’d looked at themselves and thought _I want to be more than this,_ children like Marcus Flint who’d played Quidditch the first time and thought _this is what I want to do forever._

Even in her first life, Rose had nearly been a Slytherin. She’d grown up watching the people around her, picking her words carefully, a series of calculations running through her mind at all times. Was Uncle Vernon angry? How was he holding himself? Which words did he use, and which did he not use? She’d carefully manipulated herself to be in situations where Dudley couldn’t attack her without looking bad – she’d looked at what other children had that got them the affection of adults and she’d practiced until she’d charmed the school librarian into letting her stay inside during recess – Dudley could get her before and after school, but during recess she was safe. Safety had been hiding in the quiet and shadows, waiting for the monsters to pass. Safety had been knowing when to strike and when to back down. Safety had been intertwined with cunning, and she’d developed the latter as she sought the former.

Then she’d learnt her parents’ murderer had come from Slytherin. It was the very first thing she’d heard about the house, and when her first friend backed that up, she’d locked away Rose-of-the-Cupboard and become the Girl-Who-Lived. She’d bowed to the expectations of others, because she’d been alone so long that she clung to the first person who’d offered their hand.

(“There’s not a single witch or wizard who went bad, who wasn’t in Slytherin,” Hagrid had told her)

(Hagrid, who had taken her from the arms of Sirius Black)

(Hagrid, who had given her her first birthday gift, rescued her from the Dursleys, introduced her to her birthright)

(“imagine if they put me in Slytherin,” Ron had said disgustedly)

(Ron, who had left)

(Ron, who had come back)

She wondered how many other Slytherins were like her. She wondered how many would-be Slytherins had gone instead to Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, or Gryffindor, children who’d been warned away from the house of snakes because they were evil.

(as if snakes attacked unprovoked)

She looked at Dumbledore as he recited the points tally. The last-minute points had seemed a great gift in her past life. It was only later that she’d recognized the manipulation for what it had been: a reward for recklessly putting herself and others in danger. A slap in the face to the Slytherins who’d worked against the mistrust to claw their way up the leaderboard. A cruel, cruel thing to do, to offer something and snatch it away at the last possible moment, especially to people who defined themselves by the strength of their _want_.

“… and in first place, Slytherin, with four hundred and seventy-two.”

The Slytherins cheered. She saw Malfoy banging his goblet on the table. Once she had been sickened by it. Now she looked past Malfoy and saw Theodore cheering, Blaise laughing, and Daphne smiling.

(Theodore, who could see the Thestrals; Blaise, who joked and flirted but dreamed of histories untold and treasures unknown; Daphne, with a mask like ice but who loved with all the heat and passion of fiendfyre)

“Yes, yes, well done, Slytherin,” said Dumbledore. “However, recent events – “

“Congratulations, Slytherin!” Rose yelled, interrupting Dumbledore unapologetically. She wasn’t going to let him take this from them – she couldn’t. “You beat us this time, but Hufflepuff’ll show you next year!”

There was a moment of brief, shocked, affronted silence before -

“You wish, Potter!” Blaise retorted. She felt a rush of gratitude for him – he could afford to be seen with her now; she was top of their year, well-connected, and took part in the Old Ways. She saw a flash of Derrick’s grin from halfway down the table.

Rose stuck her tongue out at him. “You’re just jealous I did better than you in History of Magic!”

“Ahem,” Dumbledore said politely. He was still smiling but it looked a little strained. “Thank you, Miss Potter.” Rose made a show of sitting down and smiling sheepishly.

“I suppose all that’s left to say is… tuck in!”

The tables groaned with food. Rose was laughing deliriously. She ignored the snickers and looks sent her way and cheerfully helped herself to some roasted vegetables.

“You’re so embarrassing sometimes, Rose,” Justin sighed. Rose grinned at him.

“Thanks, Justin! You say the sweetest things.”

“Weirdo,” he said, but he was smiling.

Rose wanted to cheer. She wanted to jump on the table and dance. She settled for racing over to the Slytherin table as soon as she’d finished her food, hearing Susan’s fond sigh as she left. She headed straight for the Slytherin table, ignoring the looks sent her way, and stopped behind Blaise.

He turned and smirked at her. “Come to grovel on bended knee, Potter?”

“As if you could be so lucky to have me on my knees,” she scoffed. Several people choked, Rose smirked, and Blaise looked delighted. The smile he gave her was positively wicked.

“Why, that almost sounds like a challenge – “

“Don’t even think about it, we’re _eleven_. Now move over, I just finished that book you lent me and let me tell you – “

“You finally admit that the Giant War of 1382 had a direct hand in the dragon pox epidemic three years later?”

“Absolutely not, Zabini, don’t give me that drivel, I’m here to prove you wrong. Look – ”

“Merlin save me,” Theodore sighed. “Daph, kill me now while there’s still time.”

Daphne sniffed imperiously. “Don’t be silly, Theo, then who will put me out of _my_ misery? Besides, you called me a silly blonde two weeks ago.”

“- how on earth does muggle religion factor into this at all?!”

“The _behavior changes,_ Zabini, do keep up –“

“Oh, wonderful Daphne, best of us all, we are unworthy to be in your presence, please forgive this lowly servant –“

Theodore squawked as Daphne smacked his shoulder. Rose and Blaise met each other’s eyes and burst out laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> seriously, those last-minute points were a DICK move.  
> anyway, that's year one complete! now i'm going to wrangle some of that fabled self-control and wait until saturday before posting the next chapter


	12. Summer 1992, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I changed the title from 'Wide Eyes' to 'in another life' - I felt it fit the story more. I've also started titling chapters by year for organizational purposes. Sorry for any confusion this might've caused!

“Right, Harry, Rose, have you been practicing your French? German?”

“Sirius, there’s no need – “

“ _Both_ of them almost died this year, Remus. _Both._ At eleven. Dumbledore’s clearly incapable – “

“Harry was an accident and Rose sought that out – “

“Actually, Harry was nearly murdered by Voldemort,” Rose muttered under her breath. Harry elbowed her but he needn’t have bothered. The moment they’d flooed home, the argument had begun, and the two men were far too engrossed in each other to pay attention to anything else. Rose saw Penny nervously wringing her hands in the corner, eyeing their trunks, and gave her a smile and nodded. The house elf perked up, snapped her fingers, and apparated away, presumably to unpack her and Harry’s things.

They stood there for another thirty seconds before it was clear that Remus and Sirius were either going to yell themselves hoarse or make out. Harry and Rose exchanged a look and scurried away before their guardians could notice.

Potter Manor was just as beautiful as she remembered – all marble floors and gold-filigreed banisters, it became less gaudy the further you went. They ran to Rose’s room, marble giving way to oak, Macha flying ahead hissing _$Freedom!$_

They collapsed on the pastel blue carpet side by side, staring at the star-littered ceiling.

“They’re not _really_ going to transfer us to Beauxbatons, are they?”

“I hope not,” Rose sighed. “I’ve done far too much networking to let it go to waste like that.”

Harry snickered. “Slytherin,” he teased.

“And proud,” Rose agreed.

“I wish everyone else felt the same,” Harry sighed. “I nearly hexed Cormac bloody McLaggen for picking on Lily Moon.”

“Ernie watches Slytherins like they’re going to kill him when his back’s turned,” Rose said. “I’m working on it, though.”

 _“We’re_ working on it,” Harry said firmly. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way some people look at Theodore.”

Rose found Harry’s hand and squeezed. He squeezed back and they lay there for a while, gazing at the stars, listening to the low, contented hiss Macha made as she stretched out in the sunlight.

That night, as Rose relaxed into the familiarity of her bed, she heard a knock on the door. It was a very distinct series of knocks, which meant –

“Harry?” She murmured.

The door creaked a little as Harry came in, closing it gently behind him.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he said quietly. “Can I…?”

“Get in, idiot,” Rose huffed fondly, shifting over. Harry threw himself onto the bed with a thump, letting out a muffled “oof”.

“’fanks,” he mumbled.

“Mm,” Rose hummed, rolling over and curling up on her side. She heard the rustling of cloth as Harry wriggled under the blankets.

…

“Rose?” Harry whispered. “Are you still awake?”

An exasperated sigh. “Well, I am now.”

“… Can we talk?”

Rose gave an incoherent mumble. “Yeah, alrigh’, give me a mo’.” She rolled onto her stomach with difficulty, groping blindly for the headboard. Her fingers felt the familiar sun carved into the wood and she pressed it, whispering “Fairy lights, yellow, soft.” There was a quiet hum of magic as the sun glowed beneath her fingers, the tips of its rays emitting dim motes of light. They streamed into the air above the bed, moving gently as though stirred by an invisible breeze. She heard Harry give a contented sigh next to her. She rolled onto her back and stared up at the fairy lights, drifting between them and the star-scattered ceiling.

“I missed this,” he admitted quietly. “The beds in Gryffindor have only got the witchlight feature.”

“Same in Hufflepuff,” Rose replied.

They lay on their backs for a while, watching the spots drift above them. They reminded her of fireflies, the ones shown in the muggle movies Dudley used to watch on the telly.

“… Why did you go after Quirrell?”

Rose swallowed. She’d known this question was coming, but she’d hoped… Well. Harry had never been one to let things go.

“Please,” he whispered. His hand sought hers and he clutched it tightly.

“I wanted to ask him if he would spare you,” Rose whispered. She heard Harry choke on his breath.

_“What? Why - ”_

“I remember that night,” she said. Harry fell silent. “I remember… after he killed mum, he looked at us. He looked back and forth, like he was deciding something, like he was _choosing,_ and then he settled on you. He tried to kill _you,_ not me. I was just… there.

“In Grimmauld, I found some of his old propaganda. He tried to pass laws through the Wizengamot first, and… there were some laws I agreed with.” She’d never, _ever,_ told anyone this before. She took a breath.

“He was pushing for national holidays on dates like Samhain and Yule. For a redefining of Dark magic, legalization of blood magic. For mandatory wizarding traditions classes.

“None of it passed, of course, and then he started becoming more extreme and spouting pureblood supremacy and turned to killing, but the beginning… I asked him if he really believed in it. If he didn’t – he knew we followed the Old Ways – he saw us perform the ritual on Samhain. I wanted to ask him if he’d spare you because if he did, we could… we could help him try again. In the Wizengamot. And then no one else would have to die.

“But he said you were a threat. He said you had to die. So I couldn’t – I had to – “ Rose rolled over and hugged Harry tightly. He was stiff and unmoving in her arms, and she began to cry.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “He killed our parents and I – “

“You turned him down for me,” Harry said quietly. “I don’t… Thank you.” He sounded bewildered. She _ached._

“Harry, you’re my _brother,_ ” she emphasized. “I would never, ever, _ever_ even _consider_ helping someone who wanted you dead – you’re more important than anything – he said he had to kill you and I didn’t even think, I just – Harry, I shoved my fingers in his eyes,” she said, giving a shaky laugh. “I’d never give you up like that, Harry.”

Slowly, carefully, he hugged her back.

“Thanks,” he said again, but his voice was soft and heavy with meaning.

“No one’s allowed to hurt you,” she said fiercely. “ _No one._ I’ll kill anyone who tries.”

Harry huffed a laugh, a little choked with tears. “Ditto, Rosie.”

“Besides,” Rose whispered after a while. “I’d never would’ve been able to work with him anyways. I thought I could, but… he still killed our parents. I would be willing to work with him if he swore to spare you, but otherwise…”

“Yeah,” Harry said quietly. “I… I think I understand. Thanks for telling me, Rosie.”

In response, she hugged him harder.

(telling Harry had been… incredible)

(she felt so much lighter the morning after, like she was walking on air)

(maybe… maybe she could loosen her grip on her secrets)

(maybe she could take a risk)

(maybe she could embrace her Gryffindor side, just once more)

Now that she thought about it, Rose wasn’t entirely sure why she’d kept her reincarnation a secret. Hadn’t Sirius and Remus made their love for her clear? They hadn’t pressed her on her ‘Seer’ abilities, hadn’t questioned the appearance of Macha, hadn’t shown even a hint of prejudice when she and Harry were revealed as Parselmouths.

Objectively, Rose knew it was a good idea. Even in the nigh-impossible event that they reacted badly, she knew that they’d die before throwing her out or cutting her off from her vaults, so her physical safety and livelihood was ensured.

She didn’t know why -

No. She was lying to herself; she _did_ know why. It was because, for all that they’d raised her, she’d spent her formative years first at the Dursleys, then at Hogwarts. For all that the distinction between her two lives was beginning to grow, for all that Rose was starting to settle into her body and feel her physical age, she still remembered her old life. There, information had been a commodity, secrets even more so. Keeping secrets, trusting only herself, Ron, and Hermione, seeing adults as barriers instead of potential sources of help – those lessons had been learned and reinforced countless times in her first life. The mere thought of giving them up _voluntarily,_ of her own accord, sent her into a cold sweat.

But just because she didn’t want to didn’t mean she _shouldn’t,_ did it? It was a weakness now – she had no way of accessing the other horcruxes, save the diadem, without the presence of an adult wixen. The Trace would pick her up if she tried to break into Gringotts or the Gaunt shack, since house elves didn’t register as adult wixen. Even Gringotts – Bellatrix Lestrange had been Bellatrix _Black,_ hadn’t she? Could Sirius find some way to reclaim her vault? Could one of them learn to cast Fiendfyre, so they wouldn’t need basilisk venom? Couldn’t they act as contingencies, in case she died?

(because she’d nearly died this year, hadn’t she? Burning Quirrellmort alive – it had nearly killed her, and what would’ve happened then?)

(she knew – the Chamber reopened; Voldemort resurrected; Harry walking to his death)

(maybe not, considering how she’d changed things, but was she willing to take that chance?)

They could _help_ her. Of all the adults she’d known – hadn’t these people proven themselves enough?

(she still didn’t want to do it)

(she was nauseous at the very idea)

(but she’d faced down Voldemort. She’d walked to her death. She’d died – _twice)_

(she could do this)

“Harry, Sirius, Remus,” Rose said hesitantly. “Could we… could we go to the sitting room? I need to tell you something.”

She told them everything:

Her reincarnation.

(“What do you mean, _Death_ told you?”

“You know, the End of All Things, Destroyer of Worlds. _That_ Death.”)

Her first life.

(“Dumbledore left you with _Petunia?”_

“Hang on – is that why you don’t trust him?”

“Wait, you’re not _actually_ a seer, are you? That was just to cover up your knowledge – “)

(“Why did _Hagrid_ deliver your letter?”

“Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia didn’t want to send me to Hogwarts. He had to chase me down.”)

(“Wait, why weren’t you put with me and Remus?”)

Her time at Hogwarts.

(“You _went after_ – “

“Why didn’t you tell a professor?!”

“Professor McGonagall didn’t believe us, what else were we supposed to –“

“Tell another one‼”)

(“A _basilisk_ in the _basement,_ there is absolutely no way either of you are going back to that place – “)

(“I broke out of Azkaban?! Merlin, I’m _so_ cool.”)

You-Know-Who’s return.

(“They _let_ you compete? You were _fourteen – “)_

(“Are we not going to talk about _You-Know-Who –“)_

And then, finally, her death.

_(“You walked to your –“)_

_(“Dumbledore told you to –“)_

… Both of them.

(“Death told me I could try again. He sent me here”)

(she hadn’t meant to, but once she started, she couldn’t stop)

At last, silence.

“So, I have to die,” Harry said softly.

Rose flinched and glared fiercely at him. “Absolutely not,” she hissed. Had she not _just_ gone over this? Across her, Sirius and Remus were adding their fervent agreements.

 _Not Harry,_ they all thought. _Not Harry._

“We’ll find a way,” she told him. “And if not, we’ll just destroy the other horcruxes, dose You-Know-Who with Draught of Living Death, and lock him up somewhere until you die naturally of old age.”

Harry frowned. “But you came back, didn’t you? Wouldn’t I come back too?”

“Not necessarily,” Rose said. “I’ve talked to Death about this – “ (there was a distressed noise from Remus at the reminder that she’d spoken to _Death_ ) “and even _he_ doesn’t know why I came back, if it was the horcrux or Hallows or both. I’m not willing to risk it.”

“Rose is right,” Sirius rasped. “We’re not going to take the chance of you dying, Harry. Never.”

 _Self-sacrificing idiot,_ Rose thought at her brother fondly. _You should’ve known better than to suggest that to a dog animagus and a werewolf._

“Not that I _want_ to die,” Harry said carefully. “But if your plan doesn’t work, then You-Know-Who would come back.” He looked at Sirius and Remus. “You’ve never talked about how bad the first war was, but I can guess. Am I really worth – “

“Yes,” Remus said emphatically. He stared at Harry hard, his normally gentle amber eyes ringed with gold. “I would rather a hundred others die than risk you.” _That,_ coming from _Remus,_ was enough to shut Harry up. He looked down at his hands, blushing.

“… Alright,” Harry mumbled.

“Besides,” Remus added, eyes sharpening on Rose. “Just because you _might_ come back doesn’t mean Rosie would too.”

Sirius and Harry, evidently not having thought of this, paled dramatically.

“You’re right,” Harry said firmly. “Absolutely no dying.”

“Now that’s out of the way,” Sirius said abruptly. “Can we talk about how _Death_ gave Rose a familiar and she named it after a bloody goddess of war?”

The tension cleared and they laughed.

“It certainly explains a lot,” Remus sighed. Rose flushed guiltily.

“It fits, though,” Harry said, grinning slightly. “Macha’s very bloodthirsty. You ought to hear her sometimes – she’s always whining that Rose won’t let her eat anyone.”

Remus stared. “Occamies don’t eat people.”

Harry shrugged. “Macha wants to.”

Remus turned his gaze on her, eyes accusing. Rose looked back innocently. “She hasn’t eaten anyone yet, has she?”

Sirius, his face in his hands, gave a muffled mumble that sounded like _because she’s a foot long._

“Even if she does, she wouldn’t get caught,” Harry reassured them. Oddly enough, they relaxed a little.

“At least there’s that,” Remus sighed.

There was an odd feeling in Rose’s chest. She felt warm, like she’d just had a cup of hot chocolate, and wanted to crush Remus and Sirius into a hug. So, she did just that, jumping over the coffee table and tackling both of them into the sofa.

“Fucking hell,” Sirius grunted, hugging her back. “Warn us next time, won’t you?”

“Language,” Remus chided, his voice slightly muffled. He cursed as Harry tackled all three of them, making Sirius snicker.

“Thank you,” Rose whispered.

_Thank you for believing me._

_Thank you for helping me._

_Thank you for loving me even after everything I’ve done._

Harry, catching the tail end of her meaning, hugged her tighter. “Stupid,” he sighed fondly. “You should’ve told us earlier.”

“Sorry,” Rose mumbled. “’was scared.”

Sirius made an irritated noise. He untangled himself, putting one hand on Harry’s shoulder and the other on Rose’s.

“Let me make this very, very clear,” he said forcefully. “Harry, Rose, the two of you could burn down the country, take over the Ministry, and blow up Muggles for shits and giggles, and all Remus and I would do is ask you how we can help. We don’t give a single flying fuck what you do or tell us as long as you’re safe and happy. I thought we’d made that clear before, but you’re both thicker than I thought.”

“Don’t call them thick, Sirius,” Remus said exasperatedly. He didn’t disagree with anything else Sirius had said, though.

Rose could feel an echo of Harry’s shock. It was terrifying to learn exactly how unconditionally they would be loved. They could do whatever they wanted, and still Remus and Sirius would be on their side no matter what.

“Your parents would agree,” Sirius said quietly. “You know they were working to get out of the country? They were going to go to Australia or the Americas and leave Britain to You-Know-Who to keep you safe.”

“Oh.” Harry said.

Remus smiled affectionately and ruffled Harry’s hair, who ducked away half-heartedly. “Yes, _oh._ So, if you’re worried about what your parents would think of you – Sirius and I can assure you that they wouldn’t give a single fuck.”

“You cursed!” Rose blurted out. Harry and Sirius snickered as Remus rolled his eyes.

“Yes, well, sometimes the situation requires it. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Professor Lupin,” she and Harry chorused obediently, grinning at him mischievously before they scrambled out of the room.

“Good night!” Harry yelled.

“We’ve got murders to plan!” Rose added.

“Countries to take over!”

“Worlds to dominate!”

They giggled when they heard Remus’ exasperated exclamation behind them. Holding hands, they ran to her room. Tomorrow, the four of them would talk and plan. For now, though, Rose felt lighter than she ever had, and she and Harry whispered late into the night before they fell asleep.

(she was so, so lucky to have them)

(she didn’t deserve them, not at all, but she would work every day of her life to be worthy)

_Miss Rose Potter and Company are cordially invited to attend a 12th birthday celebration in honor of Blaise Zabini_

_Sunday, July 5 th at 2 o’clock in the afternoon _

“Rosie,” Sirius said in a too-calm voice. “Why exactly are you friends with the son of the Black Widow?”

Rose pulled out the puppy dog eyes. “I met him on the train, Sirius,” she said earnestly. “He’s not like that, I promise.”

(she _knew_ her practice would come in handy)

Sirius sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Remus, go over poisons with them, won’t you?”

“Yes, dear,” Remus sighed, stirring a lump of sugar into his tea.

“And hex Zabini to pieces if he ever does anything you don’t like, Rosie.”

“You shouldn’t be encouraging her to go to violence as the first resort, Padfoot.”

Rose sighed. “I wouldn’t do that anyway. I want him on my side.”

Sirius groaned and put his head in his arms. “Oh Merlin, she’s collecting _minions._ ”

“We _did_ tell her we didn’t care what she did,” Remus said mildly.

“Blaise _isn’t_ a minion!”

“I’m not going to tell her to _stop,_ Moony, Rosie can do what she wants, I just never expected I’d be raising a bloody Dark Lord when James asked me to be godfather.”

_“I’m not going to be a Dark Lord!”_

“No, you’re going to be a Grey Lord,” Harry muttered. Then, “Ow! Elbows!”

Rose had fallen in love. Lord Aida Zabini was beautiful, composed, and deadly; she had long, dark curls that flowed loosely down her back, heavy-lidded soulful brown eyes, and a perpetual smile that whispered _I know something you don’t._

Rose didn’t know if she wanted to kiss her or become her. Maybe both.

Beside her, Blaise gave an irritated sigh. Daphne patted him on the back sympathetically.

“Don’t pout, Blaise, it’s unbecoming. It’s not your mother’s fault she’s more beautiful, charming, and interesting than you.”

“You’re too young for her anyway,” Blaise muttered mulishly. “And you’re supposed to be _my_ friend.”

Theodore flung a handful of grass at him. Blaise dodged, still scowling.

“Leave her alone, Blaise, it took Daphne and I a few hours too.”

“It’s just so _annoying_ ,” Blaise complained.

“Oh, I agree,” Daphne sighed airily. “You’re not the only one who has to be in Rose’s lovestruck presence, you know. I think I might be sick.”

“You’re too well-bred to be sick, Daph.”

“Well, I’m certainly being put to the test. _Look_ at her, it’s nauseating.”

The other three looked at her. Rose, splayed out on the grass, paid them no mind. They were sitting under a tree, shaded by its thick green leaves, the rest of their peers having opted for Quidditch. Rose gazed at the branch above her head and thought it a perfect match to Aida Zabini’s eyes. She let out another dreamy sigh. Aida Zabini looked at people like they were prey.

“Well, Potter _did_ say he’d never seen her like that before.” Theodore said at last. “Perhaps she’s never had a crush before and her brain’s melting.”

“Her brain _can’t_ melt, she still thinks that bloody _corks_ of all things were one of the contributing factors to the Goblin War of 1187 – “

“Why in Circe’s name is _that_ your main concern?!”

“It’s _important,_ I don’t see any way how – “

“It’s because a plague killed of a bunch of cork trees a few years earlier which directly led to a shortage of alcohol – “

“Jigger exaggerated that shortage, you _know_ that alcohol imports were at a peak and more than made up for it – “

“Then how do you explain – “

“Fucking hell,” Theodore said, burying his face in his hands. “This whole time – all it took – “

“We should’ve guessed,” Daphne sighed.

“You really should’ve,” Rose agreed, cutting off her argument with Blaise before they came to blows. “When have I ever agreed with Blaise on – wait.”

Rose whipped around and saw that the crowd of adults, who’d previously been chatting in front of the glass doors to the manor, had all but disappeared inside a nearby tent. She turned back to Blaise, eyes wide, to see him already looking at her with an exasperated expression.

“Finally noticed, have you?” He asked dryly.

“They’re finally _gone_ – “

“They’ve been gone for half an hour – “

“And you let me _lie_ there – “

“You hexed us whenever we tried to disturb you‼”

“And you’re so weak that you can’t take a few Stinging Hexes, I’m aware – “

“You gave me _welts_ in places _no welts ought to be_ – “

“Poor baby, now can we go to the – “

“For Merlin’s sake!” Daphne cried. She flicked Rose and Blaise’s foreheads. “Stop flirting and let’s _go_ already.”

“We’re _not_ flirting!” Rose and Blaise squawked in unison, but they scrambled up nonetheless and made their way back into the manor.

“Five galleons they’re together by Yule,” Theodore muttered, trailing after them.

“Of fifth year, maybe,” Daphne sighed. “Oblivious idiots.”

“I’m not flirting with you,” Rose told Blaise firmly. He gave her a flat look.

“Of course you’re not, you’re in love with my mum.”

“Your mum is _amazing,”_ Rose said vehemently. “Besides, we’re far too young to be thinking of any of that silliness, we’re only twelve.”

That got her looks from all three Slytherins.

“You’re joking, right?”

Rose looked back confusedly.

“Oh Merlin, she’s _not.”_ Theodore breathed in horror. “Don’t you know that – “

“Shut up, Theo,” Daphne sighed. “You’ll just break her again; she’s clearly not built for this. We should just enjoy the show, I think it’s going to be a very exciting few years.”

“Care to explain what you’re talking about?” Rose asked irritably.

“It’s probably best that we don’t,” Theodore said.

“Live in blissful ignorance,” Blaise added.

Daphne just gave her a smile.

“You’re all prats,” Rose sulked.

“Yeah, but we’re prats who’ve got a dueling chamber.”

Potter Manor’s dueling chamber was undeniably crude when compared to the Zabini’s. It had never been a priority of Sirius and Remus to keep it up to date, so while it had stayed in adequate shape thanks to the elves, it would take three months, a team of goblins, and a truly absurd number of galleons to renew the enchantments, check the runic configurations, and take into account the more recent developments in the dueling and warding sphere. In the meantime, they taught her and Harry to hone their reflexes with barrages of Stinging Hexes, and increase their accuracy with increasingly smaller, faster, and more agile targets. 

For all family names and legacies were important to wixen, magical power and ability trumped it all. Albus Dumbledore, a half-blood from a minor pureblood family, had fingers in near every political pie. Tom Riddle, no-name half-blood, had nearly brought Wizarding Britain to its knees. If Rose wanted to form a third side, she needed to train.

She didn’t expect to match them – she was still a second year, reincarnation or not – but she needed to be powerful enough that people thought twice about siding with one or the other. Andromeda, in her time as the Black and Potter proxies, had turned the Neutral faction into one that could compete with the Progressives and Traditionalists, but she had no power in Hogwarts. Dueling with Blaise, Daphne, and Theodore served dual purposes: it allowed her to measure herself against her peers, and it allowed her to start building a foundation of respect in Slytherin.

(no one but Sirius and Remus knew about the Parseltongue. Rose was looking forward to _that_ reveal)

 _“Aguamenti!”_ Rose cried. Her overpowered Water-Summoning Spell covered the floor. Theodore dodged, but he seemed a little puzzled. It was only water, after all.

She twisted out of the way of a _tarantallegra_ and froze the water with a _glacius_. Theodore, who hadn’t paid the water much mind due to the water-repellant enchantments woven into his clothing, slipped. Agility gone, it was easy to get him with a _stupefy._

The moment the wards sensed Theodore’s unconsciousness, the spell was undone. A Nullifier ward reversed all spells cast since it’d been raised, activated by a formal surrender, unconsciousness, or a third party. It wouldn’t do anything against the more powerful spells, of course, and did very little for injuries, but for basic conjurations, transfigurations, and the like, it was wonderful.

Theodore groaned good-naturedly as she hefted him to his feet. “Stupefy’s a _fifth year_ charm,” he complained. “At this point, I think you’re just showing off.”

“No, she’s having fun,” Daphne corrected. “When did you learn all those spells, anyway? _Aguamenti’s_ sixth year.” She and Blaise were adequate duelers for their age, but they were more suited to verbal battles and manipulation. Rose and Theodore were the ones who were truly training.

“She learned the Water-Summoning Charm to make _tea_ ,” Theodore grumbled.

“And I learned the Freezing Charm over Yule so Harry and I could go ice-skating,” Rose chirped. It was second year material.

“You’re unbelievable,” Blaise sighed. “If you’re quite finished, however, it’s nearly time for cake.”

Rose perked up immediately, as did Theodore, though he was still massaging the back of his head. Guilty, Rose shot him a low-powered numbing spell. Theodore grinned at her in thanks.

They headed back to the grounds, Blaise and Daphne taking the lead as they chatted. The two were close, pushed together as the heirs of two prominent Neutral families. Rose and Theodore trailed behind them in comfortable silence.

“You’ll tell me what you’re training for one day, won’t you?” Theodore murmured. Rose found she wasn’t entirely surprised that he’d picked up on her urgency – he was unnervingly perceptive.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you…” she began, but Theodore cut her off.

“You don’t need to explain – I’m a Slytherin. We understand the importance of secrets,” he grinned. “But eventually – “

“I’ll tell you one day,” she said firmly. “Thank you, Theodore.”

A small smile, something soft in his expression. “You can call me Theo, you know. We’re friends, aren’t we?” At that, there was a flicker of vulnerability, of uncertainty.

“Yes,” Rose said forcefully. She hated the hesitancy on his face. She wanted it _gone._ “You’re one of my very best friends, Theo.”

Resisting the urge to crush him into a hug, she settled for grabbing his hand and swinging merrily. “Skip with me?”

She could see the refusal forming on his face, so she turned her best pair of puppy dog eyes on him. He crumbled.

“… As long as no one sees,” he sighed.

Rose beamed, linking arms with him and skipping. She grabbed Daphne’s arm as they passed, dragging her along with them.

“What the _fu-“_

“Careful, Daph!” Blaise called, grabbing Daphne’s other arm. “What would your mother say?”

“She would say that the heir to the Ancient and Noble House of Greengrass does not _skip_ – “

“Not even to please the Zabini heir?” he asked cheekily. “And the Nott heir? And the potential Black heir?”

“You know you want to,” Rose teased.

“I want no such thing,” Daphne sighed, acquiescing nonetheless. Despite her outward reluctance, Rose could see the smile pulling at the edge of her lips. They slowed down once they got to the stairs though, fixing their hair and straightening her robes.

Stepping outside, Blaise and Rose started arguing about history again, as if they’d stepped inside to check something from a book. Daphne and Theo bore practiced looks of long-suffering on their faces, although they might not’ve been entirely feigned.

They met up with the others – nearly the entirety of the first and second year Slytherins, quite a few upper year Slytherins, a great many Ravenclaws, and Harry. They were flushed and windblown from Quidditch, Harry and Malfoy having called a temporary truce.

“Finally stopped trailing after Lord Zabini?” Malfoy sneered at her. “You were looking even more pathetic than usual.”

She smiled sweetly back at him. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Malfoy. At least she _wanted_ to speak with me.”

Aida Zabini’s greeting had been perfunctory to Malfoy, who’d only been invited because he was in Blaise’s year in Slytherin and because of his father’s position. Meanwhile, she had positively cooed over Rose. Rose wanted to smile just thinking about it.

(“Oh Merlin, you _must_ let me do your hair one day, it’s absolutely _gorgeous –_ oh, and those _eyes_ – you have the most beautiful colouring I’ve ever seen – “)

Blaise grinned, baring his teeth. “One day, Malfoy, you’ll have to admit that Rose is better than you in every possible way, and when that day comes, I will laugh in your face.”

There were a number of wide eyes and shocked looks at that – Blaise had been openly friendly with Rose, but this was practically a declaration of support.

“Go easy on him, Zabini,” Derrick chided. “It’s not his fault he can’t see past the end of his nose.”

Rose beamed. “Hello, Derrick!”

He grinned at her. “Hello, Potter. I hadn’t realized there’d been so many advancements in animal-to-human transfiguration recently, you haven’t even got whiskers.”

Harry looked appalled but relaxed confusedly when Rose burst out laughing.

“I’ve missed you,” she giggled. “It’s just not the same without your caustic commentary.”

“Four syllables, Potter, my word! How remarkable.”

She knew she’d have a good deal of explaining to do later, judging by Harry and Theo’s looks, but for now she revelled in the open support Blaise and Derrick had given her and the look on Malfoy’s face. Merlin, verbal sparring was _fun._

Sirius was trickier than a barrel of hinkypunks when he wanted to be. He’d taken to hanging out in his Grim form to try and smell which of her male friends owned the kitten he’d scented on her clothes, so Rose had hurriedly written Diggory and told him to only send letters to her at odd hours.

 ** _No offense, Potter, but isn’t that a bit excessive?_** He’d written skeptically.

 _Absolutely,_ she’d agreed. _But it’s the principle of the thing, you understand. If he finds out, he wins._

 ** _Fair enough_** _,_ he’d replied, and hadn’t questioned her again. **_You’re a very competitive person, aren’t you?_**

Rose had laughed out loud. _You have no idea._

(hadn’t she turned down the afterlife to try and live her life better? If life was a game, she was going to play until she won)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Extra chapter :) expect the scheduled one tomorrow  
> Also: holy cannoli, 300 kudos?!?! You guys are incredible!! And thank you so much for the response to my last frenzied upload - you guys are amazing <3 <3 <3 bundles of appreciation for every single one of you who reads, comments, bookmarks, and/or subscribes!


	13. Summer 1992, Part 2

_Dear Miss Potter,_

_I have spoken to Professor Babbling about your request and have enclosed a series of worksheets. I would be much obliged if you would fill them out to the best of your ability._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

* * *

The sheer number of anti-cheating spells that had been embedded into the parchment was mind-boggling. They functioned similarly to a Sneakoscope, detecting deceit and lies. Rose recognized the content of the first few scrolls as belonging to the third year Ancient Runes curriculum – she’d begged Diggory for his quizzes and worksheets and devoured them eagerly – and flew through it easily.

In her past life, she’d attached herself to Ron like a limpet and taken Divination and Care of Magical Creatures. In this life, she still intended to take Care, but also planned on taking Runes and Arithmancy. Before muggle primary, she had practically lived in the Potter family library. She’d gone through the theory of the first few years, then turned big eyes on Remus and asked him to teach her Runes. She’d been interested in the subject since she’d seen Lily craft her ritual, and immediately regretted not being more curious in school.

Rose was _good_ at Runes – she had a talent for them that mirrored Harry’s talent for flying. She knew things, intuitively, that had Remus gaping at her and flipping through reference books to verify what she’d instinctively _known._ She had been bored to pieces last year, diverting herself with dueling in the Room of Requirement or cultivating her allies in Slytherin.

(somewhere along the way, some allies had turned into friends)

(she’d always cared too easily)

There were five sets of worksheets, each one corresponding to a year. Rose finished it all that day and owled it to Dumbledore with Wally, who nipped at her fingers affectionately before leaving.

(Harry had Hedwig. Rose couldn’t look at her; most of the time, she pretended Hedwig didn’t exist)

(when she caught a flash of that snowy white plumage, she saw a flash of green light and heard Hedwig screech)

* * *

A week later, she’d been sent an owl requesting her to write her Ancient Runes OWL with an attached list of dates and times. There had been a letter from Dumbledore reassuring her as well:

_I have the utmost confidence in you, Miss Potter. I myself have never delved too deeply into Ancient Runes, but Professor Babbling assures me you are nothing short of a prodigy and that she has no doubt you will score an ‘Outstanding.’ Having examined that ward you carved into the trapdoor, I find myself in firm agreement._

Rose had signed up to take her OWL the day before her birthday, much to her family’s dismay.

(“Rose, you have _a week_ to study – “

“I don’t want to study on my birthday, and I know it all already! You know I do, Remus, you’re the one who taught me!”

“But you’re still _twelve!”_

“Well technically I’m twelve _and_ twenty-one.”

“Eight days, Rose!”)

Finally, Rose had pointed out that she’d already owled her acceptance so there was no point in arguing and really, wouldn’t it be better for Remus to channel his stress into helping her study?

He’d been absolutely brutal in his review, which she appreciated. Now that she knew how highly Dumbledore and Professor Babbling expected her to score, anything less would be a disappointment. It was an odd feeling, knowing that she had external expectations. It was different from the way she’d driven herself in Hogwarts last year – she’d known that she could bring home a list of T’s and Remus and Sirius would be disappointed but still love her. But this – she _needed_ to make a good impression on Professor Babbling. She was one of the foremost experts in the subject _worldwide,_ she sat on the board of the International Society of Runes. She held Masteries in over twenty different runic languages, from ancient Egyptian to ancient Mandarin. She was, by all accounts, a genius, and a recommendation from her would go a long way in whichever Runes-adjacent career she chose.

(she didn’t know what she wanted to do yet – she’d been an Auror for a year before she’d died, but she was tired of destruction)

(she needed to get rid of Voldemort first. Only then would Rose allow herself to think about her future)

* * *

In the end, the OWL was easy. There had been no practical aspect – the most difficult thing she’d had to do was a series of translations, and Rose had been doing those for fun since she was seven and in languages far more complex than Elder Futhark.

(so far, the most difficult text she’d translated had been Cleopatra VII’s treatise on Latin-Egyptian integration. Hieroglyphs were a _pain in the arse)_

She hadn’t recognized any of the other exam-takers from Hogwarts, but it had been an enlightening experience, nonetheless. Rose had never realized how sheltered and privileged she’d been in both lives – Hogwarts was one of the top three European schools of magic for a reason, after all, for all that it’d fallen. The vast, vast majority of wixen weren’t powerful enough to merit an acceptance letter, and instead went to one of the scattered hedgeschools to learn the branches of magic they were capable of. Hogwarts graduates, even the likes of Crabbe and Goyle, were practically guaranteed jobs in the Ministry (although muggleborns rarely made it to the higher levels). Even non-noble families got an enormous leg up at Hogwarts just by virtue of their attendance – there were fifteen non-noble seats on the Wizengamot, elected by the general populace, but even just campaigning for a seat required a letter of recommendation from a Noble family, so virtually everyone on the Wizengamot was a Hogwarts graduate. She’d existed in a bubble – everyone she knew either had gone or was going to Hogwarts. She hadn’t even known other schools of magic _existed_ in Britain until she’d thought to ask Remus why other students would be writing their Runes OWL with her.

“Surely there can’t be _that_ many people who failed the first time around?” she’d asked, confused at why the Ministry was holding the exam on so many different dates. There were only six, but still.

Remus had given her an amused look. “Not every school has enough students to offer OWL exams on-campus, Rose, nor do they follow Hogwarts’ schedule. For many, this will be their first Runes OWL.”

_“There are other schools?!”_

“Of course there are – even squibs can make the simplest potions, but a great deal of wixen can’t manage even a hedgehog-to-pincushion transfiguration. Mostly the other hedgeschools are more general – household cleaning charms, common potions, that sort of thing, depending on how much magic the child has. Haven’t you ever wondered why there were so many Herbologists? All the other subjects, even Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, often require some degree of high-level wandwork in the upper echelons. Hogwarts is one of three schools in the country that offers schooling beyond OWLs. Most wixen just don’t have enough magic for things like that.”

Rose had arrived at the Ministry in wearing semi-formal robes, Sirius’ hand on her shoulder. She’d walked into a waiting chamber on the seventh floor with thirty other wixen and their guardians and realized immediately how terribly she stuck out. Her shoes alone had probably cost twice as much as some of the other wixen’s entire _outfits_. The robes she’d thought were semi-formal were far, _far_ more expensive than anything else in the room.

She’d seen the resentment in their eyes, the judgement. She looked like a spoiled little rich girl who’d been drilled by a series of private tutors until she could take her Ancient Runes OWL three years early. She’d had every advantage, every privilege, and was rubbing it in with her very presence.

Rose didn’t blame them. She remembered that feeling, that bitter resentment, that thought of _you have no idea what I’ve sacrificed to get here_.

Rose had been trained well, however, so a stranger would’ve seen none of this on her face. However, Sirius was no stranger – she was sure he saw the shock and guilt she couldn’t quite disguise. He knelt to her level, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. He was wearing his formal Wizengamot robes – he had a meeting to get to and had to leave soon to meet Andromeda.

“Your mother would be so proud of you,” he said quietly. Rose saw several people eavesdropping. “She was well on her way to a Mastery in Runes before she died. I know she hoped you’d have the same talent, and she’d be overjoyed to learn that your talent didn’t just match hers but outstripped it by a mile. She would be so, so proud of how hard you’ve worked to get to where you are now. She would’ve stood here with a quiet sort of pride, her hand on your shoulder. James, on the other hand, would probably have been hysterical with joy. Lily would’ve had to stun him and leave him at home. We’re all very proud of you, Rose. You’ve worked hard to get to where you are now.”

Rose smiled slightly, which had been Sirius’ intention. He might not have been a Slytherin, but he’d been raised as a Black. He knew exactly how to play to an audience and proved it now in how he’d expertly turned the opinion of the room in her favor. His casual naming of herself and her parents would’ve had some wixen realizing that she was the sister of the Boy-Who-Lived, an orphan. She hated pity, but she hated resentment more. She didn’t begrudge them the sentiment, but she _did_ begrudge their lack of subtlety.

“Thank you, Sirius,” she said quietly. She didn’t think Sirius was lying when he told her how proud her parents would be of her, either – he wasn’t the type to lie to someone just to make them feel better or even to serve a greater purpose.

“They’d be proud of you too,” she told him. “For raising Harry and I so well.” She sent him an earnest smile that had several wixen sigh.

Sirius’ smile turned fond. “Away with you, you little devil. I look forward to rubbing your accomplishments in Lucius Malfoy’s face. But no pressure, of course.”

Rose rolled her eyes. “Of course,” she echoed dryly.

Sirius grinned and ruffled her hair in farewell. “Good luck, Rosie.”

“Thanks, Siri,” she chirped.

Rose turned back to the group of wixen. Without Sirius by her shoulder, she felt very exposed. She looked around the room hesitantly, making sure to paint her shyness all over her face. She caught the eye of one particularly sympathetic-looking witch, who smiled at her encouragingly.

“Hello,” Rose said shyly. She looked at the girl standing beside the witch. “I was going to ask whether you were here for your Runes OWL, but that seemed painfully obvious.”

The girl giggled. “It’s alright, I wouldn’t know what to say either. I’m Samantha Page, and that’s my mum Eleanor Page.”

“Rose Potter,” Rose said, sticking out her hand. “Well met, Miss Page, Madam Page.”

Several eyebrows rose. Several mouths fell open in shock. ‘Well met’ was the informal greeting used to recognize someone who was a superior or an equal.

“Er – well met,” Samantha said, eyes wide, shaking her hand hesitantly. Her mother did the same.

“Which school do you go to?” Rose asked, before a thought occurred to her. “Or are you homeschooled?”

“No, I’m going into my seventh year at Alexandra’s Hedgewitch Academy. It’s very small, I don’t expect you to have heard of it.”

“I’m afraid I haven’t. Would you tell me about it later? I’ve been very sheltered, growing up, and don’t know much about the outside world.” Rose looked up at Samantha Page with big, earnest green eyes. She saw the other girl practically coo.

“Of course, I’d be delighted,” she smiled.

“Brilliant!” Rose chirped, beaming. “Thanks so much, Miss Page!”

Page gave a nervous-sounding laugh. “Please, call me Samantha, none of that formality.”

“Only if you’ll call me Rose,” Rose said, smiling up at her.

“Er – alright, Rose,” Samantha said faintly. Rose bounced on the balls of her feet and Samantha’s shock vanished.

“Uncle Sirius will be picking me up after the exam,” she informed her brightly. “We could take you out to dinner if you’re available, Sirius is always encouraging me to make new friends.”

Samantha glanced at her mother a bit helplessly. Rose turned her big eyes onto Eleanor Page, who looked frazzled.

“Well – if you’re sure your uncle would be fine with it – “

“Oh, absolutely! Besides,” and here Rose smiled a little mischievously. “Uncle Sirius put a frog in my bed last week, so he at least owes me dinner with a friend.”

“A frog! Really?!” Eleanor Page seemed astonished that a Lord on the Wizengamot would do such a thing.

“Oh yes,” Rose assured her. “He something like that once every few months so you’d think I’d be more vigilant. He put toads in my wardrobe over Yule, says it keeps me on my toes.” She giggled.

“How… interesting,” Madam Page said weakly.

“You can laugh,” Rose assured her. She glanced at Samantha and grinned self-deprecatingly. “I’m well aware my uncle’s absurd. When I was five, he turned my skin bright pink and kept it that way for _days._ It clashed something awful with my hair.”

Madam Page and Samantha giggled.

* * *

The OWL was painfully, _painfully_ easy. Madam Marchbanks’ eyebrows had gone up when Rose had handed in her exam an hour before the exam had ended. She hadn’t wanted to draw even more attention to herself, but she had limits – after looking over her work eight times, she could practically recite the thing verbatim. She’d memorized the translations, the explanations, even the essay she’d written for the bonus question on the hypothetical origins of _Eihwaz._ She just… couldn’t look over it again. She might keel over.

* * *

“Sirius!” Rose cried, tackling him into a hug the moment he came in. “Where’s Auntie Andy?”

“Oof,” he said. “Hello to you too, Rosie. Andy had to run, something about Ted and doxies. How was the exam?”

“It was alright,” she said. She wasn’t worried about Ted – doxies were venomous, yes, but Andromeda was a Healer. 

Behind her, she heard Samantha scoff.

“Rose is being modest,” Samantha said. “She was the first one of all of us to finish.”

Sirius grinned at her. “Well, considering she’s been studying since she could read, I’m not surprised.” He looked down at Rose. “Aren’t you going to introduce us, Rosie?”

Rose perked up. “Oh! Sirius, this is Miss Samantha Page. She said she’d be my friend! Samantha, this is my guardian Sirius Black.”

“Well met, Miss Page,” Sirius said, offering her his hand.

“Well met, Lord Black,” Samantha said.

Sirius rolled his eyes. “None of that, now. Any friend of Rose’s is a friend of mine. Call me Sirius.”

Rose cheered inwardly, then noticed a few other students lingering nearby.

“Do you want to join us?” Rose asked them. “They’re Samantha’s friends,” she added to Sirius, still clinging to his sleeve. He’d changed out of his Wizengamot attire.

Sirius grinned at them easily. “Please do,” he said. “The more the merrier, after all!”

“Er – if it’s not too much trouble,” one of them, Michael Brown, said. 

Rose wanted to cackle.

* * *

It was a wonderful evening. Sirius took them to the Leaky Cauldron, taking a moment to send a Patronus to Remus to tell him of the change of plans. Samantha and her friends goggled at the Grim-like dog (she wondered if any of them had ever seen a Patronus before – she suspected not. Only half the Aurors could produce a shield, let alone a corporeal one). He’d glanced at the group for a moment before asking if they’d minded adding two more.

And so it was that Harry and Remus flooed in, Harry ducking his head to hide his scar. Sirius had gotten them a private room, so the only people who stared at him were Samantha and her friends. They were still in shock from meeting her and Sirius though, so their reactions were far milder than they would’ve been.

Rose had had ulterior motives for inviting Samantha and her friends, of course, but she genuinely wanted to expand her horizons. She begged them to tell her everything about their Academy, listening eagerly to their stories. Harry drew Michael Brown into a conversation, asking if he was related to Lavender Brown.

(Rose pushed away the memory of blood-soaked curls before they could overwhelm her)

“She’s my cousin,” Brown grinned. “You should see the stuff she writes about you in her letters home.”

Harry scrunched up his nose. “There’s not much to write about though; doesn’t it get boring?”

She was grateful for her brother. He was charming and humble, and by the time Samantha and her friends had flooed home, he’d extracted promises to write from all of them.

 _Really,_ Rose thought. _If Harry truly wanted to rule the world, all he’d have to do is talk to people. They’d be calling for his rule in a week._

The most absurd part was that Harry was just a genuinely likable person. He was mild-mannered, cheerful, and didn’t have to fake an interest in the lives of others. Rose wielded her earnestness like a weapon, but for Harry it was so ingrained he didn’t even notice.

(she envied that part of him)

* * *

The rest of the summer passed in a blur. Rose had gotten an Outstanding on her Runes OWL and would be joining the sixth years come September. Her ears still rang from Hermione’s shriek when she’d found out.

(“What do you _mean_ you wrote your Runes OWL?! We won’t even be taking Runes ‘til third year!”)

(Harry, popular boy that he was, had invited a frankly terrifying number of people – Rose had a sneaking suspicion it had been to give her an easier inroad to them)

(but he had also invited the Weasley twins)

(she hoped they hadn’t noticed her avoidance – it had been easy last year, two years, a House, and a castle between them, but at the party there had been nothing but some trees and grass)

(Rose had introduced Macha then – had come with the occamy on her shoulder, warming herself in the sun. It was the perfect setting – she’d played the happy, naïve little girl all day, giggling apologetically that _sorry, Macha’s not allowed to go outside on her own, she’s very small you see, and we’re worried about her_. With Potter Manor behind her and the Boy-Who-Lived beside her, the wixen who’d known Harry well enough to be invited had accepted Macha’s presence with surprising ease)

(there had, of course, been more than a few protests, but all it took was a conversation with Harry to ease them into hesitant smiles)

(Rose played the innocent little sister and Harry played the self-deprecating, doting older brother)

Theo had written her a letter positively dripping in jealousy. They had to write each other via Blaise – he couldn’t exactly afford to be seen corresponding with the sister of the Boy-Who-Lived, after all.

 _Can you imagine the look on Malfoy’s face when he finds out?_ He’d written gleefully. _It’s going to be glorious._

(she had apologized profusely for not inviting him but he understood – it had been less a birthday party and more a chance for Harry’s acquaintances to familiarize themselves with her, after all, and with Macha’s reveal already straining their welcome, Theo understood that more snakes would’ve been pushing it)

 _Of course,_ Theo had added, _that’s assuming he hasn’t already died of shock and jealousy from the knowledge that you have an occamy familiar._

(a ridiculous number of people at her and Harry’s party had connections to the Wizengamot; a piece of gossip _this_ juicy would’ve made the rounds in days)

 _It’d be a shame if he died,_ Rose had written back. _I’ve barely begun._

(it was a good thing she lived in Potter Manor and not at Privet Drive this time – the elves of Potter Manor would block the entry of a non-Potter elf unless explicitly allowed)

(Dobby had cornered them in Diagon Alley. Having been forewarned, Harry and Rose had lied earnestly that _we won’t be going to Hogwarts but shouldn’t we get our books and things so no one gets suspicious?)_

When Rose had ranted about Lockhart, Sirius had gotten a dangerous look on his face.

(“You mean a man with a proclivity for memory charms is going to have access to a school full of teenage wixen?”)

(Remus’ eyes had gone gold with anger)

Sirius had then scribbled off a furious letter to Andromeda, asking if she knew any investigators who could look into this because _Hogwarts was a school, goddammit, not everyone had remembralls._

* * *

She and her family had figured out what to do about the diary too – assuming things hadn’t changed, Harry would sneak Rose in under the Invisibility Cloak so she could steal it. They’d wrap it in layers of silk, which had magic-resistant properties, and call Penny, Potter Manors head house elf. Penny would hand it off to Sirius, who was used to handling dark artifacts, and lock it in a hidden room at Grimmauld who’s express purpose had been to conceal dark artifacts. There were actually multiple such rooms; the locket was stashed in another. Then, when they came home for Yule, they’d watch Remus burn the horcruxes with fiendfyre. After all, though it was summoned with emotion, it was wild and required someone with a great deal of self-control to end. Remus, a werewolf who’d once fought against his very nature, was perfect for the job.

(Hufflepuff's cup, unfortunately, was out of their reach. Bellatrix was still alive, her betrothal contract still active, and goblins cared not a whit about wixen prisons)

Remus first had to learn the spell, though, and wanted them safe at Hogwarts before he began. It was a very neat plan, and Rose had next to zero confidence that it would work. Her life was never that simple.

It was nice to have people to plot with, though. She hadn’t realized how alone she’d felt last year, keeping an eye on Quirrellmort and running around.

(it was odd – the memories of her past life were fading more quickly than ever. Even the emotionally charged ones, the ones that pressed on her occlumency barriers at every opportunity, seemed… muted)

Rose hadn’t told them everything, though. They knew the important, You-Know-Who relevant bits, but the details of her personal life she’d kept quiet. In her past life, the only person she’d ever told about her cupboard was Hermione. After Ron had left, they’d talked about anything and everything to keep themselves occupied. Rose had confessed it in the familiar comfort of darkness, and she had made Hermione promise not to treat her any differently.

(Fred and George must’ve known – they’d gotten her things from the cupboard the summer before second year. Once they’d taken out her trunk, they would’ve seen the old, thin mattress; the little green plastic soldiers; the words, written in white crayon, proclaiming it ‘Rose’s Room.’)

(they hadn’t tried to talk to her about it, but they’d sent her foods and prank products over the summer, had told her after they’d bought the shop that she could visit any time she wanted)

(she’d never taken them up on it, but she had remembered)

(she could think their names now – it still hurt, but less so)

(maybe she’d even be able to talk to them this year)

(or Lavender Brown)

(or Anthony Goldstein)

(or Alicia Spinnet)

(or any of the other students who’d fought and died at her request)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry - this chapter is a bit of a filler, but we're off to Hogwarts next week, Lockhart and all ;) I, for one, am very excited


	14. Year 2, Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: slightly graphic violence, so if you're here for the wholesome family content, uh... be careful. Also, see author's note at the end for an important question about the update schedule!

When Rose walked into Gilderoy Lockhart’s Defence classroom, she couldn’t stop herself from letting out a faint whimper.

“What are the odds that the Headmaster would let me skip Defence classes and self-study instead?”

Susan had given her a pitying look. “Rose, the Headmaster _hired_ Lockhart. Self-studying’s probably a good idea though,” she’d sighed, eyeing the many Lockharts winking and grinning at them with undisguised disgust. Apparently, Amelia Bones had been so appalled with the DADA course books that she’d set several on fire and had to buy new ones. Susan’s copy of _Travelling with Trolls_ was still a bit singed around the edges.

“Are you going to self-study?” Justin asked curiously as they settled in the back, as far away as possible. “It’s a brilliant idea – we could have a study group.”

Rose stared at Justin. She hadn’t even _thought_ about starting the DA early. Merlin, she was an idiot sometimes.

“Justin, you’re a genius!” Susan beamed.

“Excellent idea, old man,” Ernie agreed. He leaned over to whisper to Michael Corner. Rose saw the message pass like a wave through the students – even if a number of love-struck boys and girls looked affronted at the idea that they would need anything more than Lockhart. She figured many would change their minds in a few weeks.

“We can talk to Professor Flitwick,” Terry Boot said. “He’ll know a place, surely.”

“Maybe during his Saturday office hours?” Anthony Goldstein suggested. Rose fixed his image in her mind – young, innocent, and alive. This Anthony wasn’t screaming, didn’t have smoke pouring from his eyes and mouth as he burned from the inside out.

 _(stop,_ Rose told herself firmly. _No details. This Anthony is alive and that’s the only difference you should pay attention to)_

Lockhart entered the classroom with a flourish of turquoise robes. He cleared his throat loudly and silence fell. He reached forward, picked up Hannah Abbot’s copy of Year with a Yeti, and held it up to show his portrait on the front.

“Me,” he said, pointing to it and winking. “Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Forces Defence League, and five time winner of Witch Weekly’s Most Charming Smile Award – but I don’t talk about that. I didn’t get rid of the Bandon Banshee by smiling at her!”

 _No,_ Rose thought furiously. _You didn’t get rid of her at all, you memory-stealing thief._

Lockhart handed out his quiz. Rose, behind a barrier of Lockhart’s books she’d constructed specifically for this purpose, whispered a _geminio_ and tucked the duplicated copy into her bag. She waited, nearly buzzing with anticipation, for Lockhart to release the pixies.

When Rose had first learned of Macha’s predilection for the creatures, her mind had immediately jumped to Lockhart’s very memorable first class. The memories were blurry, but the emotionally charged memories tended to linger as the rest faded, and the pandemonium that class had erupted into was _very_ memorable.

Lockhart whipped off the fabric over the cage. “Yes,” he cried. “Freshly caught Cornish pixies.”

On her wrist, Macha wriggled. Rose sent a short burst of calm towards her. _Wait._

“Let’s see what you make of them!” Lockhart said. He opened the cage.

It was as she’d remembered – the pixies shot in every direction, breaking ink bottles, shredding books, upending waste baskets. As she, Susan, Justin, and Ernie huddled under their desks, Rose turned to them.

“Sorry about this!” she called and pulled back her sleeve. Their eyes widened as Macha was revealed.

“Please eat them,” Rose begged her familiar. Macha, hissing out a happy _$finally! Come here, my tasties!$_ uncurled herself and flew into the air.

“She loves Cornish Pixies,” Rose grinned apologetically. “And I doubt Lockhart’s going to do anything about them.” His wand, after all, had already been snatched from him. Her friends, even Ernie, who’d eyed Macha with wariness and horror, grinned back. They all appreciated a saviour.

 _And_ , Rose thought admiringly, _Macha was every inch the saviour_. Her deep blue scales shimmered and caught the light, the occamy herself a blur as she snatched pixie after pixie with unearthly grace. She twisted and dove and flew like she’d been born to it (and she had). Soon, the pixies had managed to smash a window and escape. Macha made to follow them, but Rose tugged on the familiar bond and the occamy returned.

“Sorry,” Rose said apologetically. “But you’re still not allowed outside on your own, you know.” She looked up to meet the eyes of the shocked, grinning, and (in Lockhart’s case) terrified class. The man himself was hiding behind his desk, only a shred of turquoise underneath giving him away. He’d poked his head out when the pixies had escaped and was now looking at the occamy around her wrist with wide, horrified eyes.

Everyone else had been invited to her and Harry’s birthday – they’d known about Macha beforehand. For Lockhart, however… For Lockhart, it looked as though an XXXX creature had manifested in its classroom and obeyed the orders of a little girl. Occamy familiars – magical creature familiars – were nearly unheard of. Even Fawkes wasn’t Dumbledore’s familiar, only his friend.

“My familiar,” Rose said calmly, meeting Lockhart’s eyes as she ran a finger down Macha’s back. “She loves Cornish Pixies, you see, and was upset at my distress.” She smiled a little wider at Lockhart, letting something cold creep into her eyes.

“Sorry about the pixies.”

Before Lockhart could reply, the bell rang. Rose stood, turned on her heel and left, her classmates trailing behind her.

“That was _brilliant,”_ Justin burst out. “Did you see the look on his face when he saw Macha?”

Sue Li giggled. “ _Macha_ was brilliant,” she corrected.

“Do you carry her around with you everywhere?” Oliver Rivers asked. He looked a little concerned.

“Only the first few days at Hogwarts,” Rose said, not even lying. “It’s difficult for her to adjust to the change in ambient magic here. It helps if she’s close.”

“Is she alright?” Lisa Turpin asked worriedly. Rose smiled back reassuringly.

“Yes, I think she’s very pleased. Cornish Pixies really are her favorite food.” Macha arched her back and stretched a little, preening.

Rose pretended not to notice as her peers slowly drew back in wariness. Roger Malone had gone white as a sheet when Macha had first appeared and was as far away from her as he could manage. Sally-Anne Perks hadn’t spoken to her since her birthday, giving only a strained smile when Rose had tried to greet her. There seemed to be an invisible bubble around her that only Susan breached. She’d gotten too used to being well-liked – this subtle exclusion hurt more than it should’ve, even though she’d purposefully brought it on. Sirius had told her, grimacing, that a number of parents had written to complain about Rose being allowed an occamy familiar. There was a pang in her heart when Leanne Frobisher refused to meet her eyes.

She saw Padma Patil trying to catch her eye and fell back surreptitiously. The group continued without her, chatting as they headed to the Great Hall for dinner. Rose was pleased that even the love-struck students were able to admit Lockhart’s uselessness – they excused it as him having a bad day, but all of them were at least not overly upset by Macha’s intervention.

“Where did you find her?” Padma Patil asked hesitantly. They weren’t that close, for all she’d been at Harry and Rose’s birthday party.

“She was a gift,” Rose said, smiling. “My grandfather’s portrait said that the Potters have a sanctuary for them back in India – Chandramani’s Sanctuary, or something?”

“Oh, yes,” Patil said, eyes rapidly clearing. “That makes sense – I didn’t know Chandramani was a Potter?”

“She was a Parselmouth too,” Rose said impulsively. “Which was why she stopped the harvesting.”

“Really?” Patil breathed. “I had no idea – I think I have a great-uncle who’s a Parselmouth, but – that makes sense.”

“Yeah,” Rose agreed. She could tell Padma wanted to ask her if she was a Parselmouth or not but held herself back. Rose wouldn’t have answered anyway – she wanted Hogwarts to get used to Macha first. Occamies weren’t inherently dark, just snake-like and dangerous. Parseltongue, on the other hand, was a trait explicitly associated with Slytherin and Voldemort. They were two very different animals, but Padma’s reaction was encouraging. She’d known, intellectually, that there were other Parselmouths, but to hear of one so close to home (metaphorically, of course) was jarring.

“The prejudice against Parselmouths is silly,” Padma said decisively as they neared the Great Hall. “In my opinion, anyway,” she added, giving Rose a meaningful glance. Rose smiled back.

“I agree.”

* * *

During dinner, Rose waved Harry over. She caught the eyes of the people lingering behind him – Parvati Patil, Lavender Brown, Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnegan – and grinned encouragingly. Soon most of the second year Gryffindors were sitting at the Hufflepuff table with their yearmates, being treated to a dramatic retelling of their Defence class. Justin’s pantomiming of Lockhart’s face when he saw Macha caught the attention of Terry Boot over at the Ravenclaw table and they were pulled in as well. When Rose saw Blaise enter the Hall, she waved him over, looking apologetically at Daphne and Theo. Blaise was Neutral (unlike Theo) and friendly (unlike Daphne) and she needed to move carefully. He got a _lot_ of side-eyes at first, but he was funny and witty and Rose made a point of welcoming him.

She still felt awful at the deliberate exclusion, though, but was hesitant to invite any other Slytherins over. Rose glanced at Harry, who cut off his conversation with Stephen Cornfoot and looked back.

“You want to go over there?” He asked knowingly.

“Macha will protect me,” Rose grinned. “And the Slytherins aren’t all bad – they don’t like Lockhart either, do they?”

Blaise grinned and shook his head emphatically. “Absolutely not,” he confirmed. “We’ve got a betting pool on how long it’ll be until Dumbledore starts getting complaints.”

Anthony Goldstein grinned reluctantly. “Ravenclaw has something similar. He’s so obviously a fraud it’s almost painful.”

“Excellent,” Rose grinned. “Shall we, then?”

She stood and turned to Blaise, holding out her hand.

“Certainly,” Blaise grinned. They made their way over to the Slytherin table. Rose had made her disregard for House divisions very obvious, but she’d still never dared to sit with the Slytherins. But now, with Blaise at her side, an occamy around her wrist, and allies looking over, she felt that old recklessness of hers rear its head.

“Hello, all,” Blaise greeted, sitting down next to Daphne.

“Hello,” Rose echoed, sliding in next to him. Beside her, Millicent Bulstrode made a point of moving away.

“I come bearing a warning,” she declared dramatically, tossing her hair. “On the morrow, beware the man with the golden hair.”

“That’s not cryptic at _all_ ,” Blaise said, rolling his eyes.

Rose grinned back. “You’re Slytherins – you ought to be clever enough to work it out on your own.”

She saw a ripple of raised eyebrows and looks at her compliment – a little condescending, but Slytherins appreciated this sort of thing. Rose tried very hard to prevent her grin from turning malicious and reached across Blaise to pluck a strawberry from a bowl of them on the table. As she did, her sleeve fell back and revealed Macha in a flash of brilliantly blue scales.

Theo’s eyes lit up at the sight, even as everyone else flinched back.

“Did Lockhart release Cornish pixies?” He blurted out.

Rose stared. “How in the name of Circe did you figure that out?”

Theo grinned. She saw the discomfort in his eyes and felt a rush of affection – he didn’t want to do this, but he was going to anyway because he wanted to be her friend in the open. She hadn’t missed the hurt in his and Daphne’s eyes when she’d warned them away earlier.

“You said her favorite food was Cornish pixies, you just came back from Defence which we have tomorrow morning, and you’ve got a wing in your hair.”

“I _do?”_ Rose squealed in disgust. She patted her head frantically and plucked it out. It was silvery and translucent, crinkling in her hand.

 _Gross._ She flicked it onto the floor behind her and vanished it with a quick _evanesco._ It was an OWL-level spell, and she hid a grin when she heard someone choke and break into coughing fits.

Rose turned back in her seat and gave Blaise a betrayed look. “Was that there the entire time?”

He smirked back. “Your brother wanted to see how long it would take you to figure it out.”

“That _arse_. And no one else told me on the way here?!”

“You’ve got an occamy on your wrist, Rose,” Daphne interjected. No one missed her use of Rose’s first name. “Even pretty girls are scary with a quadruple-X creature as a familiar.”

“Aww, Daphne, you think I’m pretty?” Rose cooed, batting her eyelashes.

“Not nearly as pretty as you think Lord Zabini is,” Daphne smirked back.

Rose rolled her eyes. “No one’s as pretty as Lord Zabini.”

She yelped as Blaise flicked her nose.

“If you absolutely _must_ moon over my mother, at least do it when I can’t hear you.”

“What are you doing here?!” Malfoy, unable to take it any longer, burst out. Rose, trying not to look too gleeful, gave him a disdainful look.

“Eating, Malfoy,” she said, holding up her strawberry. “It’s dinnertime." She took a great deal of pleasure in his sputter.

“You – you know that’s not what I meant!”

“Did I?” Rose said airily. “You must think very highly of me, Malfoy, I’m flattered. Unfortunately, I’m just a silly Hufflepuff, so I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific.” She gave him a sharp, daring grin, dropping her twelve-year-old-girl mask and pulling on one Andromeda had taught her, snobbish and condescending. She saw nearby upper-years take note of the switch and held back a smirk.

He gaped at her for a moment before pulling himself together.

“What are you doing _here,_ ” he stressed. “At the _Slytherin_ table?”

“It’s not against the rules,” Rose said mildly, finishing off her strawberry. She ran a finger down Macha’s head, causing the occamy to stretch out in pleasure. “Do you take issue with my presence, Malfoy, or are you just afraid of my familiar?”

“… You’re a half-blood,” he said weakly. She felt a bit sorry for him, but he was still a spoiled, bigoted prat, so she ignored it.

“Insulting my blood status? How disappointing, I would’ve thought that after two months you’d have come up with something more interesting.”

“I’m surprised you’re not in Gryffindor with your idiot brother, Potter, it’s very brave of you to flaunt your familiar in front of the professors. Are you so arrogant that you think you won’t be punished for smuggling an occamy into the school?”

(he’d resumed taunting her a month after the remembrall incident and she, too wary of actually _doing_ anything to him, had allowed it)

(it had been a mistake – here he was now, insulting her brother, knowing – _believing –_ that she would do nothing, because she hadn’t done anything before)

Rose, for her part, simply stared at Malfoy. She needed to nudge Blaise’s foot with her own under the table – Slytherins needed to stand united against the other Houses, and the boy was as reckless as a Gryffindor sometimes. He was protected by virtue of his status and personality, but she didn’t want to test how far that extended – Malfoy’s name carried a far heavier weight than his, after all. It had been different at Blaise’s birthday over the summer – here they were in front of the entirety of the House, within earshot of the Ravenclaw table, had their yearmates peeking over at them from Hufflepuff. Rose needed to prove she could hold her own against Malfoy. She needed to be respected by the Slytherins in her own right, not by extension because of her friends.

(she’d let this go on for far too long)

“I’m not sure whether to be impressed that you think I, a twelve year old girl, am capable of smuggling a dangerous creature into Hogwarts, or disappointed that you also believe that, after that, I would be so idiotic as to literally wave it around under Dumbledore’s too-long nose.”

(she needed to _act)_

To rub salt in the wound, she turned very obviously to the High Table and gave a little wave at Dumbledore, trying not to jostle Macha on her wrist too much. He’d understand the power play, she was sure, and still wanted her on his good side, so she was almost certain he’d respond positively.

(but what to do?)

She was right. After a beat, Dumbledore, eyes twinkling, waved back. She was positive he knew what she was doing and thought it funny, which – well. She’d think on the implications of _that_ later.

(prank? Curse? Obscure spell?)

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed, face flushed in both embarrassment and anger at how she’d shot him down. “You don’t belong here, Potter, you with your filthy mudblood of a mother – “

Mudblood.

_Mudblood._

_(filthy mudblood,_ he’d called her mother, as if she wasn’t more powerful and brilliant than he could ever hope to be)

**_Mudblood._ **

The word echoed in her mind. She was upset from Sally-Anne and Wayne’s rejection, from her classmates’ fear, exhausted from the thousand and one schemes she was running, she’d been in such a good mood and –

Malfoy had ruined it with a word. _That_ word. He’d used that word and he’d used it to insult her mother. She hated that word, she hated that word, _she hated -_

“You’re going to regret saying that, Malfoy,” Rose said calmly. Her friends had gone very still – she’d never told them her thoughts about that word, but she knew they could see the anger in every line of her body. Rose wanted him to suffer – she wanted to make him _scream_ – he had insulted her mother, her _mother,_ who had given her life to protect her and come up with a way to counter the Killing Curse – but she was in the Great Hall. She needed her revenge to be private – more private than this, at least.

(that word, _that word,_ the root of all her - )

(she would make him **hurt)**

Rose stood. “I’ll see you after dinner, Malfoy,” she said, and left. She heard him scoff behind her and nearly trembled with rage. _How dare he,_ he thought furiously, _how **dare –**_

 _(daddy and I would die for you, darlings,_ her mother had whispered. _We would gladly give up our lives, our futures, for yours)_

In insulting her, Malfoy had spit on her sacrifice, laughed at everything she’d accomplished –

(Rose watched as her mother – her ruthless, brilliant, muggleborn mother – covered their nursery in runes and sigils. She held bonfires in the center of the room, burning sage and mugwort and mint, casting the blood of herself and James into the fire until it sparked, blazing a blinding white for three days and three nights. She chanted, in Latin and Gaelic and Celtic, until the air was heavy and thrumming with her magic and she collapsed, spent)

Malfoy had called her _filthy,_ had all but called her _stupid_ and _worthless_ and _Lily Potter was better than he could ever_ dream _of being, how **dare** he – _

And to use _that word -_

_(she would see him **bleed)**_

She gave Harry a strained smile and waved him over. She had a plan, but she needed - 

_( **mudblood,**_ Hermione’s arm read, blood still beading over the fresh blood)

He seemed to have gotten the gist – she saw him get up and follow her out of the hall.

_(I don’t need help from filthy little mudbloods like her)_

"Malfoy did something," she said, after throwing up simple privacy wards. "I need to borrow the cloak."

Harry studied her. "Be careful," he said.

"I will," she replied. 

**_(she hated that word)_ **

* * *

Rose was cold with rage. Harry had inherited Lily’s fiery, crackling temper, but James had gotten cold and cruel when he was angry. He’d humiliated Severus Snape in front of dozens of people, he’d put students in the hospital wing and never gotten caught, he’d ruined reputations and made people cry. He’d been a vicious, vicious bully, and she’d inherited his streak of cold ruthlessness and propensity for violence just as surely as she’d inherited Lily’s pragmatism and disregard for laws in the defence of those she held dear.

When her parents had gotten word that Marlene McKinnon and her family had been killed, James had trembled with anger. They’d been friends since childhood; he saw Marlene as a sister. He’d come staggering back hours later, robes tattered and singed with spellfire, dripping blood on the white marble floors of Potter Manor. When Lily had made to look over him, he’d given her a vicious grin. “None of it’s mine,” he’d said. Lily had smiled and kissed him on the cheek.

“I hope you made them pay.”

“Oh, I did.”

That night, when Malfoy got up and left the Great Hall, Rose followed him. She could tell from his carelessness that he wasn’t really afraid of her – for all she’d been raised by a Black, she was still a twelve-year-old girl and a Hufflepuff besides. She had no way of getting at him in the Slytherin common room, so Malfoy surrounded himself with friends and allies and walked with confidence.

(she was really, really looking forward to this)

(good thing she’d had so much practice sneaking into the Slytherin dorms in her eighth year; she hoped her Daphne would be proud)

She’d borrowed the Invisibility Cloak from Harry and ducked into an alcove to put it on. She trailed him through the dungeons until they reached the Slytherin common room.

Rose stood to the side, waiting. She saw her friends pass, having followed Malfoy once he’d left. She hadn’t seen Flint or Derrick in the Great Hall and hoped they had waited in the common room, but honestly, it didn’t much matter. They’d hear about this either way – she’d make sure of it.

She didn’t hear the password, but she didn’t need it. She tucked the cloak away in her bag once the corridor was clear.

 _$Open$,_ she hissed. The wall slid open.

She stood on the threshold, eyes fixed on Malfoy. He’d just sat down, surrounded by his little cronies. Disgust curled her stomach. How dare he sit there, without a care in the world? How dare he dismiss her as a threat?

Theodore, Blaise, and Daphne were at a table in the corner. She ignored them. Tonight, she only had eyes for Malfoy.

“Good evening, Malfoy,” Rose said pleasantly. She stepped into the common room, wall sliding closed behind her.

Most Slytherins were at dinner. The few that were present fell silent. Rose felt a rush of pleasure when she noticed Flint, Derrick, and most of the Slytherin Quidditch team. The ones she’d spoken to last year, the ones she’d shown her edges to, looked interested. They wanted to see what she could do.

Good. She wanted to show them.

 _$Bind him$,_ she hissed. Several people screamed. She saw her friends openly gape at her in shock. A sixth year fell out of their chair. _$Let no one leave. Let no one enter$_

Crabbe, Goyle, and Parkinson scrambled away from Malfoy as he cried out, the snakes decorating the common room coming alive. They wrapped around his wrists and legs, holding him in place. She hadn’t needed to specify a name – the Parselmagic of the common room read her intentions, clear as crystal. Slytherins moved away from her as she approached, leaning back, looking down, too afraid to meet her eyes. The sight sent a thrill up her spine and she reveled in it.

 _$Guard me$,_ she ordered. The carpet shivered, flexing around her feet. An enormous serpent that’d once been painted on the chandelier fell to the floor and curled in a wide circle around her, hissing. It was more for effect than anything else, what with the stench of fear upon the air.

She sat down primly on the coffee table in front of Malfoy. They were nearly at eye level.

“I told you I’d see you after dinner,” she said pleasantly. “Did you doubt me? After calling my mother a _filthy mudblood?”_ she asked, voice ending in a snarl.

Malfoy said nothing. He was grey with fear and trembling. He flinched when she spoke.

“Well?” She demanded, voice hardening. “Did you? _Tell the truth._ ” She flared her magic, a trick she’d learned over the summer. It rippled outwards from her in a wave of pressure. Malfoy’s head dipped automatically in submission and her very skin thrummed with satisfaction.

“Yes,” he whispered. The room was so silent it carried.

“That was very foolish of you, Malfoy.” she crooned. “You understand that now, don’t you?” With a flick of her wrist her wand shot from her holster into her hand. She twirled it around her fingers. Macha unwound herself and curled around her shoulders, wings flared.

_$May I eat him for you, Red One?$_

_$Not yet, darling$,_ Rose murmured. _$I want to make him bleed first$_

Malfoy nodded, shaking. His eyes flicked from her face to her wand to Macha and back again. _Poor baby doesn’t know where to look,_ she thought gleefully.

She smelled the stench of urine – he’d pissed himself.

Her smiled sharpened. “Use your _words,_ Draco.”

“I understand,” he said. “I won’t doubt you again.” There was a barely noticeable quiver in his voice. She hoped the room heard it.

“Good.” She said. Rose leaned forwards and pulled up the sleeve of his left arm. The room, if possible, tensed even more.

“I want you to remember this, Draco,” she said. Her voice carried. “The next time you even think about insulting my friends and family, remember this. Remember how helpless you felt, watching me and knowing there was absolutely _nothing,”_ she snarled, “you could do to stop me.”

 _$Diffindo$_ , she hissed. Spells cast in Parseltongue gave their caster more control and more power in exchange for a large chunk of magic. Rose didn’t care. She held up her wand for a moment, so everyone could see the red light she was holding at the tip. She lowered it and slowly drew her wand down the length of Malfoy’s forearm, opening up a gash. Malfoy started to sob, gasping in great, heaving breaths. Blood, thick and red as her mother’s hair (her _filthy mudblood_ hair), welled up and spilled over, staining his robes. She murmured a spell to slow its passage – she didn’t want him to bleed out.

(when Madam Pomphrey had given her the book Rose had found the spell in, the mediwitch had had no idea of how Rose would use it)

(the entrails-expelling curse had once been used by farmers, after all)

 _$Is this for me, Red One?$_ Macha asked.

Rose smiled slowly and relished Malfoy’s obvious fear (this boy had called her mother a _filthy mudblood)_. _$Yes, sweetheart. Did I not offer you the blood of my enemies?$_

Macha gave a wordless hiss of pleasure and slithered down Rose’s arm. She heard people whimper at the sight of the little occamy delightedly drinking Malfoy’s blood. Macha nudged the exposed flesh a little in her eagerness and Malfoy stifled a scream. Her previously blue scales were now painted red.

(occamies weren’t known to enjoy human blood, but this was a creature selected by Death)

(everyone heard Macha’s delighted little chirps)

“Remember how it felt to have your blood run down your arm and your own piss soaking your trousers,” she whispered, giving him a vicious smile. “Remember that your dormitory is covered in snakes, and they answer to _me.”_

Macha withdrew, leaving smears of blood in her wake. She hissed an _$episkey$_ and watched as the gash closed. One _$scourgify$_ later (and she hoped everyone had noticed her usage of upper-year spells) and all that remained of her visit was the stench of blood and urine in the air.

She pulled Malfoy’s sleeve back down and patted it, relishing in his flinch. It was spotless.

 _$Release him$,_ she hissed. There were no screams, but she saw several flinches in her peripheral vision. Malfoy’s hands shook when the snakes retreated back into the upholstery and stilled. He didn’t dare look at her.

“I won’t be so gentle next time,” she said quietly.

She stood up and glanced around the room. Only Theo met her eyes. Her heart gave a little pang at the sight of Blaise and Daphne, who’d both gone very pale.

“That goes for all of you,” she said. She pitched her voice low, so it carried. She’d learned it from Snape. “Leave my friends and family alone. Don’t curse them. Don’t insult them. My familiar doesn’t have many chances to drink human blood, though she’s told me she quite likes it.” Rose gave a sharp, cruel smile.

 _I dare you,_ her eyes whispered. _I dare you to test me again._

Flint was brave enough to meet her eyes. He looked shaken, face white, but when he spoke his voice was steady and hard. “Message received, Potter. Your friends and family won’t be touched, not by us.”

“Good. Let the others know, won’t you?

“I will.”

“And,” she added, “since there’s no evidence that anybody got hurt, I don’t feel any need to tell the professors about this little disagreement, do you?”

“No, Potter.”

“Excellent,” Rose beamed, switching back into her cheerful-Hufflepuff mask. The sudden switch was disorienting; she practically _heard_ people flinch. “I’ll see you later, everyone!” She paused and giggled. “Or not, if you’re good.” Her smile turned teasing. She paused just before the door and tilted her head. “Oh, I almost forgot – “

_$Let them leave and enter as they please$_

“Wouldn’t want you all to be trapped in here, would I? I can’t imagine a more terrible death,” Rose said, sighing theatrically. “Goodbye, now.” She waggled her fingers.

She felt the change as the magic of the Slytherin common room obeyed. It caressed her in farewell. She stepped out, still smiling, ignoring the Slytherins waiting outside. Rose swept past before they could question her.

She’d told Harry about it over their mirrors last night. She had expected disapproval or disappointment, and Harry had shocked her with his vicious grin. He’d laughed when she told him what she wanted to do tomorrow morning.

 _(serves him right,_ he’d said. _Calling mum a filthy mudblood in front of you. Idiot)_

Rose couldn’t help but smile as she and Susan walked into the Great Hall for breakfast. She lit up further upon seeing Theo, Blaise, and Daphne already there. The two Hufflepuffs made a beeline for them and sat down.

The only looks they got were from the other three Houses – she’d terrified Slytherin well and good last night. Even now they eyed her with poorly-concealed fear – well, poorly concealed by their standards, at least. Rose didn’t think any of the other Houses or professors, save Snape, would notice. They seemed much more put-together than last night, though that might’ve been because of the current presence of witnesses.

“Morning, friends!” Rose chirped. Theo passed her a bowl of strawberries and she beamed at him in thanks. He hadn’t known about her Parseltongue before, but she’d explicitly named him a friend at Blaise’s birthday party, and the quick smile she’d given him in the Slytherin common room last night had washed away any doubt that might’ve been present.

Despite her very best attempts to draw them out of their shells, Blaise and Daphne’s smiles never quite reached their eyes. Fear curled in her stomach – she would need to talk to them later, she knew. The only person who’d ever seen her sadistic side was…

Well, it was Voldemort.

(and wasn’t that an odd thought?)

(she felt something squishy beneath her fingers and **_pushed,_ **but beneath the horror and disgust and determination there was satisfaction)

“Good morning,” Harry grinned, sliding in on her other side. Neville and Hermione followed suite, both looking nervous.

“Mind if I borrow Macha for first period?” Harry asked casually. “In case Lockhart’s still got some pixies, you know.”

Rose grinned at him. “Of course.” She passed her familiar to him and she could practically see the cogs in the Slytherin’s heads turning – Parseltongue was inherited, after all.

Malfoy, sitting a way down the table, went grey and looked resolutely at his toast. For once, he wasn’t sitting with Parkinson – the girl was sitting instead with Emma Vane and Tracey Davis.

… Emma Vane, muggleborn, and Tracey Davis, half-blood. If she’d been a cat, her ears would’ve perked up. Now _that_ was interesting. She’d need to keep an eye on Parkinson.

She needed to hurry off to class before she saw Flint or Derrick. Rose made a mental note to talk to them later – if Blaise and Daphne, whom she considered friends, were uneasy around her, she didn’t want to think about how Flint and Derrick had reacted. They’d seen it firsthand, after all. Had she gone too far?

 _No,_ Rose reassured herself. _I needed them to respect me._

_You could’ve done that with a duel. Any respect they have for you is born out of fear, and fear fades. Fear fades, injuries heal - it's humiliation that lasts._

… oh. She hadn’t even thought about that.

_What does it say about you, that your first instinct is violence?_

_What does it say about you, that you_ enjoyed _it?_

 _Next time,_ she told herself. Next time, she would start with a duel. She wouldn’t let herself get carried away again. She thought she'd been so clever, using the cloak and sealing the common room, when all along it'd been the same reckless temper that'd led her to _crucio_ a Death Eater in front of Professor McGonagall. 

She'd do better next time, she promised herself. She'd destroy Malfoy in a duel, show off her magical prowess, insult him and humiliate him and make him pay -

(in a way that didn't remind her of Voldemort)

Rose remembered the heady rush of power she’d felt and shivered.

(she and Harry had been blood-adopted by Sirius. They had thought themselves free of the Black Madness)

(were they wrong? Or had all that just been… her?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so uh... yeah. that happened. It might seem OOC, but Rose is _very_ protective of her mother and has very few qualms about murder and/or torture in the defense of people she loves. There are definitely going to be consequences for this though, I promise!  
> Anyway, regarding updates: I'm taking a leave of absence for the winter semester to help me manage my depression and figure out the right med combo, so I have much more time to write than previously anticipated. Therefore, there are several options for updates:  
> Option 1: same as before, one chapter a week  
> Option 2: two chapters a week, with no set update days  
> Option 3: I update every time I finish 1-2 chapters - I've posted 14 out of 47 chapters so far and am currently on year four, so this would mean rapid updates for the foreseeable future with a nice buffer for the summer semester, which is when I'll start school again  
> Let me know what you think, and thanks again for reading/commenting/subscribing/bookmarking/leaving kudos. I see and appreciate every single one of you in a completely non-creepy way <3


	15. Year 2, Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to everyone who reads, comments, and leaves kudos! Seriously, y'all are amazing <3  
> back to your (somewhat) regularly scheduled friendship and political content!

Rose had an odd relationship with attention. She didn’t mind it – welcomed it, even – when she drew it purposefully (she’d never felt that powerful before, that night in the Slytherin common room, seeing every one of them still and silent and hanging on her every word). When she was caught off-guard, however, it was far more irritating.

She held back a grimace as she stepped into the sixth year Ancient Runes class. The only people she recognized was Percy Weasley (the lone Gryffindor) and Brianna Melton, who was a Hufflepuff Prefect. Melton was already sitting next to someone though, a boy with yellow lining his robes. They were the only Hufflepuffs – apart from them, there were three Ravenclaws and three Slytherins. It was the smallest class she’d ever seen, and she knew for a fact that there had only been one Runes NEWT class for decades – Professor Babbling required an “O” to continue, and even then it was one of the most difficult of the subjects offered at Hogwarts.

All of them were staring. Rose wanted to crawl under a desk. Stupid of her, to think that just because she’d spent a year being approachable and friendly that that would cancel out her, a _second year,_ in a NEWT-level course.

“Hello, Miss Potter!” Professor Babbling said, looking up from her desk. She was a short, innocuous-looking woman, with straight brown hair cut in a bob and intelligent brown eyes. “Do sit down, won’t you?”

The only available seat (unless she wanted to sit on her own) was beside a gentle-looking Slytherin boy. She slid in beside him, trying not to read too much into the gasps and wide-eyed looks she was getting – especially from Prefect Melton.

 _Slytherin prejudice exists,_ she reminded herself.

“Miss Potter,” Professor Babbling said, gracing her with a small smile, “is something of a prodigy. She took her OWL over the summer, and I won’t have any of you giving her a hard time, do I make myself clear?”

At the severe look she shot them, everyone nodded. Rose looked down, blushing furiously. She looked back up when Professor Babbling began her lecture, readying her quill.

“Over the past three years, you have learned the meanings and uses of Elder and Younger Futhark. You have gone from translating single runes, to pairs, to passages. You have demonstrated a firm understanding of how to use Elder and Younger Futhark to create the most basic of wards. Now, we will begin exploring international runic systems, comparing them to Futhark. You will be learning an additional five of the seven main runic languages, so you have been provided with academic-grade Memory Potions to help you memorize the different meanings. Next year, you will learn how to integrate these systems. Wards and enchantments anchored with integrated runes are considerably more powerful and longer lasting than those done with a single language. Any questions?”

A Ravenclaw raised her hand.

“Yes, Miss Gallagher?”

“Why would combining languages strengthen the wards? Would the different rules not clash and weaken them instead?”

Professor Babbling smiled. “Two points to Ravenclaw for an insightful question. I’m afraid the answer isn’t yet known – there’s a great deal of empirical evidence that proves it, but the theory behind it is still being discussed. If you’re interested, I can recommend a few issues of _Runes Monthly_ with noteworthy hypotheses. Anyone else? Miss Garrison?”

The Slytherin girl straightened. “Professor, why didn’t we receive Memory Potions when learning Elder and Younger Futhark?”

Professor Babbling frowned at the wave of snickers that passed through the room. “I get that question every year, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. Memory Potions work best for languages when one has already learned a language the traditional way. Remember that it only boosts memory, not comprehension, so your brain operates better when similar pathways are already in place. Does that make sense?”

“Yes, Professor.”

“Excellent. If that’s all, let’s begin: 

“The Ancient Chinese equivalent of Futhark were mentioned briefly last year, but only used as a comparison. Today we will be learning the Chinese system in its own right.”

It was fascinating. Professor Babbling was an excellent teacher, taking the time to point out references in their textbook, reiterating her points, and going at a steady enough pace that Rose’s hand wasn’t cramping nearly as badly as she’d expected it to by the end of the lesson. She jotted down the homework in her planner and tucked it back into her bag. Giving a shy, “See you next class,” to her deskmate, she was waylaid by Prefect Melton almost immediately afterwards.

“Hello,” she said curiously. Prefect Melton looked equal parts concerned and exasperated.

“Potter,” she said, blue eyes deadly serious. “I know you’re friendly with some Slytherins – hell, the whole school knows by now – but that’s one Slytherin you ought to stay away from. That was _Felix Rookwood_ , Augustus Rookwood’s son.” She pressed her lips together. _“Ex-Unspeakable_ Augustus Rookwood.”

They both knew she meant _ex-Death Eater._

“That doesn’t mean he’s like his father,” Rose said quietly. _Theo isn’t. Pansy… might not be._

“I’ve known him far longer than you have, Potter. He’s dangerous.”

“He won’t do anything to me in class though,” Rose pointed out. “It’d be far too obvious.”

Melton sighed. “Fine, just – try not to antagonize him, alright? And stay away from him outside of class?”

Offended, Rose objected, “I’ve never antagonized anyone.”

The boy next to Melton snorted. “Pull the other one, Potter.”

Melton rolled her eyes. “Apologies, Potter. This idiot is Liam Willis.”

“Well met, Willis,” Rose said. Willis waved her off.

“No need for formality, Potter. We’re not Slytherins.” Rose wanted very badly to object to that blatant stereotyping (‘well met’ wasn’t even that formal! She hadn’t _bowed_ or anything), but kept her mouth shut. This wasn’t the time or place.

“I’ll stay away from Rookwood outside class,” Rose pretended to give in. She had no such intention of doing so – she wasn’t going to form her opinion of him based on hearsay, no matter how well-meaning.

 _(he might stay away from_ you, _though,_ her mind whispered. _After your show last night)_

Fuck. She really hadn’t thought that one through, had she?

* * *

She found her three Slytherin friends at their usual table in the library, tucked away in a corner at the very back. They were sitting with Tracey Davis and Emma Vane, which Rose carefully did not look shocked at. She saw Pansy Parkinson lurking behind a bookshelf nearby and pretended not to notice. She also pretended not to notice the way Blaise and Daphne had gone still. Davis and Vane had looked petrified (hah) since she’d shown up.

 _(like prey,_ Rose’s mind whispered)

“Could I have a word with you, Blaise? Daphne?”

“Of course,” Blaise said, trying for a smile. He was still unnaturally stiff. Daphne said nothing at all; she simply stood and turned, looking at her with her chin raised in a gesture of defiance. It hurt, to see her friends looking at her like –

(like they were prey)

Rose shook off her thoughts. “Shall we go somewhere more private? It won’t take long, I hope.” She’d tried to make the words unthreatening, but her soft, pleasant tone seemed to unnerve them just by itself. The fear in her belly worsened – what if… what if they didn’t forgive her? She was sure they’d expected her to rip Malfoy apart verbally, mock and insult him until he cried, maybe. Instead, she’d had her familiar drink his blood. From his left arm, too. Rose didn’t think anyone missed the significance of that.

She led them into an abandoned classroom and set up a few privacy spells. She looked from Blaise’s well-concealed nervousness to Daphne’s stone face.

“I’m not going to be a Dark Lord,” she said bluntly.

“Really?” Blaise blurted out.

“A Grey Lord, then?” Daphne asked calmly. There was a tremble in her index finger she couldn’t quite hide. “We haven’t had one of those in a while.”

“What – _no,_ why does everyone keep thinking –“ she cut herself off, breathing deeply.

“I don’t want to rule over _anyone_ ,” Rose said emphatically. She stared at her friends, willing them to believe her. “I just want to protect my friends and family. For the record,” she added. “I consider both of you my friends. I’d never hurt you on purpose.”

“Spoken like a true Hufflepuff,” Daphne murmured. Blaise gave the girl a panicked look.

Fuck. Fuck fuck _fuck thiswasbad -_

“I’m not lying or acting or trying to trick you,” Rose said, a note of desperation creeping into her voice. “Please – you really _are_ my friends – I love arguing over history with you, Blaise, and Daphne, I think you’re one of the funniest people I’ve ever known – I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was a Parselmouth earlier but even Theo didn’t know and – I’m sorry,” she whispered miserably. “I didn’t mean to scare you – please tell me I haven’t messed everything up,” Rose begged. She was almost crying now – she’d had _no idea_ of the effect she would have, and what did that say about her that she knew her friends so poorly?

“Please,” Rose repeated. “What do I have to do to make you believe me?”

Blaise shifted uncertainly. She saw cracks in Daphne’s mask, and had to hold herself back from pushing. She’d said her piece – it was up to them, now.

“An oath,” Daphne said quietly. “An oath on your magic.”

Blaise gaped at his Housemate, turning his shocked gaze onto Rose when she pulled out her wand. An oath was a serious thing – breaking it would turn her into a squib and would take an enormous chunk of her core regardless. She’d be weakened for days. It was extremely rude of Daphne to even ask, an _enormous_ faux-pas, but if it would let her keep her friends...

“I, Rose Lyra Potter, do swear – “

“Wait,” Daphne said. “That’s enough – I just wanted to see if you would.”

Rose blinked at her. “Oh. Alright.” She looked at the Slytherins cautiously. “Does this mean we’re friends again?”

(she hated herself for the vulnerability she couldn’t quite hide – Rose-of-the-Cupboard had never been fully locked away, it seemed)

Blaise softened. “We never stopped being your friends, Rose.” He pulled her into an awkward hug, relaxing as Rose all but melted into it.

“We were just worried you preferred us as minions,” Daphne said dryly. She made an affronted noise as Rose reached out and pulled her into the hug.

“Minions are boring,” Rose mumbled. “Friends are much better.”

“This is humiliating,” came Daphne’s muffled voice.

“It’s alright, Daph,” Blaise said cheerfully. “We’re never speaking of this conversation again, after all.”

Rose couldn’t hold back a giggle. “I’ve missed you both,” she whispered, voice thick with emotion.

“Dear Merlin,” Daphne said, dripping disgust. “You really _are_ a Hufflepuff. I hope it’s not catching.”

When they went back to the library, Theo took one look at them and said _“Finally.”_

“Shut up, Theo,” Rose said affably, sitting down and pulling out her Ancient Runes notes. She trawled the library for reference books, returning with a stack half her height and letting it drop onto the table with a loud _thump,_ grinning at the irritated looks Theo and Daphne shot her.

(“I’m not sure you understand how terrifying you can be,” Theo had told her quietly. “That night… none of us had even considered that you’d be capable of that. If you fooled them that easily, they wondered what else you might’ve slipped past them.”

“And you don’t?”

“You said so yourself – we’re friends. And if you proved anything that night, it was that you defended people you cared about.”)

* * *

That night, Susan pulled her aside in their dorm room.

“Everything alright?” Rose asked, worried.

Susan bit her lip. “You know I’m not one to gossip, but… well. I thought you should know that Sally-Anne Perks, Leanne Frobisher, and Wayne Hopkins were talking about you earlier, about how occamies were always the familiars of Dark witches and such. I’m not sure if anyone else believed them, but…”

Rose sighed. “It’s alright. I’ve known that not everyone would be alright with Macha,” she said, smiling weakly. She couldn’t quash that little pang of disappointment though – all three were part of her study group. She knew them, and they knew her. It was one thing to be wary of her when she’d been a Gryffindor and barely interacted with them like in her past life, but in this one… She’d logically known she couldn’t expect everyone to be on her side, but being shown proof of it hit differently.

“Hannah, Justin, Ernie, and I shut them down,” Susan told her firmly. There was a hint of worry in her eyes, making Rose wonder what her face looked like.

“Thanks,” she said quietly, a little heartened. At least she had more defenders this time around and, with luck, there wouldn’t be a situation where she was a suspected Heir of Slytherin.

“I’m sorry,” Susan said softly, reaching out tentatively. Rose stepsided it and pulled the other girl into a hug.

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “I knew this was coming – I’m not sure why – “

“You thought they were your friends,” Susan said quietly. “Don’t be ashamed of being upset.”

* * *

Perks, Frobisher, and Hopkins were one thing – their avoidance was borne out of prejudice, declaring her Dark because of her familiar (and like there was something wrong with being Dark, but Rose wasn’t there yet). Everyone else, she believed, avoided her out of a combination of fear and prejudice.

In an effort to drag her Housemates into accepting her familiar, Rose had taken to wearing Macha curled up on top of her head like a crown while she did her homework in the common room. She’d explained it as Macha having tired of her tank, which was true, but not the primary reason. As it was, Hufflepuffs who’d been friendly towards her last year were already giving her wary looks. Even Brianna Melton and Liam Willis were eyeing her with new caution, which _hurt._

(but she’d chosen this, she reminded herself. She’d wanted to combat prejudice, to remake the world into one Harry – and she – deserved)

(if this was the price, she would pay it gladly)

Ernie, remembering his reaction to her after the Samhain ritual, and after seeing Susan make a point of cooing over Macha, stood staunchly by her. Hannah, after Rose let her feed Macha some ice mice, was delighted by their new study companion. The familiar bond allowed Rose and Macha to share emotions and understand each other, which was why she was allowed at all.

Rose, bent over an Astronomy worksheet, felt Macha slither her way down her head and curl up around her upper arm. She glanced down at the occamy, who flicked a tongue out in greeting.

“Hello,” she told her fondly, brushing the tip of Macha’s nose with the end of her quill. Across from her, she heard Hannah _aww’h_.

 _$Hello$_ Macha replied impishly. She peered at Rose’s worksheet with her sleek little head. Rose felt a pulse of curiosity from her.

“It’s a review of the stuff we learned last year,” she told the occamy, who looked for all the world like she was listening intently. “Mainly basic maths and trigonometry, but also a review of the phases of the moon and constellations.”

Macha tilted her head in a very human expression of confusion. She heard Justin muffle a squeal of delight and smiled. Macha really _was_ adorable. 

“It’s important to know for harvesting things like potions ingredients,” Rose explained, trying not to smile. “Water-based magic is stronger on the full moon, and shrivelfigs ought to be picked at the new moon, because the gravity of the moon creates the tides. The power of the moon is weakest at midday on the new moon, which means that shrivelfigs picked at that time will be less reactive and prone to explosions.”

Macha gave a little chirp and nudged Rose’s cheek affectionately, before curling back up and tucking her head in her coils. Rose finally allowed herself to smile fondly at the occamy. Really, for all that she had a taste for human blood, Macha was unfairly cute.

“Is she very interested in Astronomy?” Diggory asked curiously. Rose looked up to find him leaning over her chair. She shifted aside a little.

“I think she just likes hearing me talk,” she admitted bashfully.

Diggory grinned. “That’s adorable.”

“Isn’t it?” Hannah sighed dreamily. “I wish I had an occamy.”

Diggory mock-frowned at her. “Don’t you have a kneazle familiar?”

Hannah blushed. “Yes, Mistletoe can’t exactly hang around my shoulder like that – well, you know what I mean.”

He grinned. Hannah ducked her head and turned pink. Ernie gave a very subtle scowl.

* * *

“I have a proposal to make,” Rose began. Immediately, Theo snickered.

“Blaise is going to be disappointed.”

“What does Zabini have to with this?” Harry asked curiously. Susan giggled.

“Shut up, Theo. I want to invite Blaise and Daphne to join us,” Rose said.

“Now that she’s reassured them she won’t induct them into her evil army,” Theo muttered. Rose threw a book at him, which he caught easily.

“What?” Hermione wanted to know.

Rose pressed her lips together and glared at Theo. “Ignore him, Hermione, Theo thinks he’s funny. I’ve gotten closer to Blaise and Daphne since the incident with Malfoy – “ not that any of them, save Harry and Theo, knew entirely what that was, only that she’d scared Malfoy a bit “ – and I trust them. They’re not blood purists.”

“And they hate Malfoy,” Theo added.

Everyone looked at Harry, the unofficial leader of the group. He sighed, looking tired and something else. “Don’t make me regret this, Rosie.”

She beamed at him.

(as it turned out, she did, but not in the way they’d expected)

“Forgive me for my bluntness, Miss Granger,” Daphne said delicately. “But may I ask what products you use on your hair? I’ve noticed that it seems to bother you.”

Hermione frowned, unsure whether to be offended or not.

“I mean no offense,” Daphne reassured her. “I only want to help, I promise. My aunt has similar hair.”

(and that was the beginning of the unholy, entirely unexpected friendship between Hermione and Daphne – between Hermione’s brains and Daphne’s political maneuvering, they brought down the wrath of the gods upon any student unfortunate enough to be seen attacking another)

(Hermione preferred obvious, showy retaliation – she’d cursed Amanda Ackerley to have the word ‘bully’ spelled out in bright, painful-looking pustules that Madam Pomphrey hadn’t been able to heal. The spell only worsened, more and more pustules appearing, until Ackerley got the hint and stopped jinxing Slytherin first-years in the halls)

(Daphne favoured more subtle methods – Malcom Rosier hadn’t dared look at either her nor Hermione after he’d called Penelope Clearwater a stupid mudblood)

(Rose still didn’t know what they’d done)

(but there was a part of her that hummed with pleasure at seeing her own anti-bullying stance carried on by her friends)

* * *

On Saturday, Rose, Susan, Harry, and Anthony Goldstein accosted Professor Flitwick during his office hours and asked if he could supervise their study group. They intended to practice defence spells, after all, and Flitwick had been a duelling champion in his youth. Flitwick had agreed happily, telling them he’d ask the Headmaster to reopen one of the disused Defence classrooms.

(the wars with Grindelwald and Voldemort had killed many of all blood, and those who’d lived through that were reluctant to bring children into the midst of a war)

(the incoming first-year class was the smallest Hogwarts had seen in decades; even now the House tables looked sparse)

Rose happily handed off leadership of the group to Harry, Susan, and Anthony. Between them, Harry and Susan had a great number of resources they could draw upon, and Anthony was even more organized and on top of things than Hermione was.

Reincarnation or not, Rose had a number of schemes she was in the middle of, as well as more she’d yet to begin. Her spellwork might have been excellent, but theory and essays had always been Hermione’s forte, and her homework still took an embarrassingly long time to complete. She had a NEWT next year – she didn’t have the time or brainpower to spare for the group.

“Wait,” Anthony blurted out. “Are you _really_ taking sixth year Runes?”

“Oh,” Rose said, ducking her head. “Yes, I am.”

“She got an Outstanding on her OWL,” Harry said proudly.

“Wow,” Anthony said. “I mean, I heard rumors but… you know…”

“Primary sources are important,” Rose grinned. “I understand.”

Anthony grinned back. For the first time, Rose looked at him and didn’t feel any guilt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'tis decided! I'll be updating whenever I finish a chapter until I finish book 2 - when that happens, I'll post another survey and see what everyone thinks! See you next chapter!


	16. Year 2, Part 3

Early Sunday morning, just as the sun was rising over the horizon, Harry met her at a secret passage that let out near the Gryffindor common room. He pulled the Invisibility Cloak out of his bag and she draped it over herself, whispering Softening Charms on the soles of her shoes. She followed him on silent feet as he led her to Gryffindor Tower, slipping in behind him before the portrait of the Fat Lady swung closed. The common room was, as expected, deserted. She tapped Harry’s shoulder once to let him know she was going to the girl’s dormitory and he pulled out a book, settling down near a window.

(there were so many memories in this room)

(that couch in the corner was where she, Ron, and Hermione had spent so many nights)

(that table over there was the one Fred and George had jumped on when advertising their products)

(she needed to do this quickly)

Rose crept up the stairs and into the room housing the first-year girls. She froze as the door creaked when she pushed it open – stupid, stupid mistake – and relaxed when she didn’t hear any signs of movement.

Ginny hadn’t pulled her curtains shut – it made it easy to find her trunk. She cast a number of detecting spells and found no wards or enchantments to prevent her from opening it, so she did and rummaged as quietly as she could but found no trace of the Diary.

Slowly, dread pooling in her stomach, she pulled back a corner of Ginny’s pillow, dropping it quickly when that revealed nothing as well. She stared down at Ginny, trying not to feel like a creeper. The way her arms were curved, it was like …

 _Oh, fuck,_ Rose thought numbly. She lifted Ginny’s blanket just enough to see the corner of a slim, black book.

_Fuck._

She wrapped two pieces of acromantula silk around her hand in a makeshift mitten, making a mental note to ask Penny to sew it into gloves, and gave a gentle tug on the book.

Immediately, Ginny’s grip tightened, and she shifted in her sleep.

… in her _sleep_.

Rose abruptly felt very, very stupid. Was she a witch or not?

Three whispered sleeping charms later, Rose pulled the Diary out of Ginny’s grasp and dropped it into a bag, encasing it in ten layers of acromantula silk. She closed the door behind her, descending the spiraling staircase, and hurried to her brother. She tapped Harry twice on the shoulder. He got up, closing his book, and left the Gryffindor common room.

When they were safely tucked away in the Room of Requirement, Rose pulled off the Cloak.

“Did you get it?” Harry asked eagerly.

In response, Rose held up the bag and grinned. Harry beamed back.

“Brilliant! Now we just need – Penny!”

In front of them, the head house elf of Potter Manor appeared before them with an earsplitting _crack_. Private elves were allowed through the wards if called by their master, though were not permitted to remove living things, nor use magic beyond apparition.

(free elves, of course, had no such restrictions – Rose had a vague memory of Dobby blasting Lucius Malfoy down a corridor)

(of course, free elves also usually died in a year or two without a house’s ambient magic to sustain it)

“Penny, take this to Sirius when he’s alone or with Remus. Don’t open it or touch anything inside.” Rose told her. Penny nodded and disappeared. She reappeared a moment later, empty-handed.

“Master Sirius is saying that the snake is in the hole, sirs and madams!”

“Thank you, Penny,” Harry said. “You may go.”

“’The snake is in the hole’?” Rose burst out. “He’s been watching too many muggle movies.”

Harry grinned. “I thought it was clever.”

“Of course, _you_ would.” She ruffled Harry’s hair affectionately, ignoring his indignant yelp.

(she didn’t relax, though – this had been _far_ too easy)

* * *

They played around a bit with the Room of Requirement, Rose briefly bemoaning the fact that they only had one acromantula silk bag – one was needed for each horcrux, and the sheer amount of silk each bag required made it astronomically expensive. They’d planned to collect the diadem after Yule, but it still rankled to have a horcrux so close and unable to do anything about it.

She and Harry made a game of seeing what interesting things they could find in the Room of Hidden Things. They giggled at the odd socks and old-fashioned clothes before Harry found a copy of _Magick Moste Evile._ They stared at it for a moment, before sharing a look and calling for Penny. After the book had been given to Sirius with their request to _please_ add it to the library, Harry and Rose began finding all the books they could.

The Room had, presumably, existed since the founding of Hogwarts a thousand years ago. Who knew what kind of knowledge lay here, books that’d been outlawed or forgotten? It was a heady thought.

So it was that they emerged from the Room several hours later, having gone through a small fraction of the things within. Rose vanished the dust on their robes with a quick _evanesco._ As they walked into the Great Hall, Rose caught sight of a head of dirty blonde hair and nearly staggered from shock.

(she’d forgotten Luna)

She switched directions immediately, Harry giving her an exasperated smile as she left. Rose was planning to set up a schedule – dinner Friday with the Slytherins, breakfast Saturday with the Gryffindors, and breakfast Sunday with the Ravenclaws.

(it had been just her in the beginning last year, but Harry had begun to join her and with him their friends)

(she was looking forward to the day their Slytherin friends joined them at the Gryffindor table. It was going to be _explosive)_

Rose waved a hello to her yearmates and sat down resolutely next to Luna.

The younger girl turned to her, fixing her with surprisingly focused grey eyes.

“I’m glad you’re not alone, Rose Potter,” she said dreamily. “You’ve been alone for so long.”

“I’m glad I’m not alone too,” Rose smiled back. “But one can never have too many friends. I’d be much obliged if you would be my friend, Miss Lovegood.”

“Oh,” Luna said softly. “That would be nice.” The blonde gave her a small, uncertain smile. “I’ve never had friends before.”

“I intend to be a lifelong friend, Luna,” Rose said firmly. “You’re not going to get rid of me even if you want to.”

“You’ve surprisingly few wrackspurts.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“It is, they make your brain go all fuzzy. You must be very clear-headed.”

“Thank you, Luna. Do warn me if they ever start multiplying, would you?”

A thought occurring to her, she glanced under the table.

“… Luna, where are your shoes?”

“The nargles took them, but it’s alright. They’ll come back eventually.”

“Nothing wrong with hurrying them along though, is there? Could you point out what those nargles looked like for me?”

* * *

Under the Invisibility Cloak, Rose walked into Ravenclaw Tower. She found the beds of Marietta Edgecomb, Patricia Stimpson, and Cho Chang (and didn’t _that_ hurt, knowing her old crush was a bully?), spelling every bit of parchment she could fine to be replaced with the words _Leave Luna alone, or I won’t stick to your homework next time._

As it was, she cursed their pillows to burn the sixth time they lay down – she wanted to create a subtle link between the two events.

* * *

The enormous library table Rose had claimed last year now boasted the vast majority of their non-Slytherin yearmates. There wasn’t really a regular schedule – one of them would sit at the table as an implicit invitation, and anyone who passed by was welcome to join. She’d yet to add a Slytherin, but the Badger Holers’ (eventually) warm reception to Blaise and Daphne had encouraged her. Rose had proposed the idea last Friday evening and asked everyone to please speak up in their defence if things got nasty – she’d clued them in to her Anti-Prejudice campaign, but since she was still working on ingratiating herself with the Slytherins, she could only work from the other end at the moment.

So, Saturday morning, when Blaise, Theo, and Daphne walked by their table, Rose made a point of waving to them and calling them over. Hermione seemed to genuinely perk up at the sight of Daphne, pulling her bag off the chair next to her and telling her she’d saved her a seat. Blaise feigned offense, caught the quill Rose tossed at him, and grinned as she patted the seat next to her.

Everyone else was… less welcoming. Ernie kept giving them suspicious glances, though Justin relaxed when he noticed Daphne and Hermione’s friendly conversation. Lisa Turpin gave Rose a wide-eyed look, to which Rose responded with pleading eyes. Lisa wrinkled her nose and seemed to say _ugh, fine, but I don’t like it._ That seemed to be the general consensus, though after a week had passed, Rose noticed Sophie Roper chatting with Daphne and Oliver Rivers leaning over to ask Blaise a question about history. Unfortunately, Rose had been near enough to hear both the question and Blaise’s answer, and had been appalled. They’d gotten into another of their (now infamous) arguments and had gotten their group kicked out of the library for the nth time. Rose smiled guiltily at the looks everyone gave her.

“I’ll talk with Professor Sprout at our next meeting to see if she can find us a better place,” she promised.

“What meeting?” Lavender Brown asked.

(Rose very carefully did not look at her)

“Apparently,” Hermione huffed. _“Every_ House but Gryffindor gets regular check-in meetings with their Head.”

Michael Corner looked appalled. “You mean Gryffindor doesn’t?”

Terry snickered. “That explains a lot, actually.”

“Oi!” Dean said, grinning. “Not our fault.”

“McGonagall _does_ have three jobs,” Neville sighed. “I suppose she just doesn’t have time for it.”

“Well, maybe she _shouldn’t_ if she can’t do them properly,” Hermione frowned, before promptly looking horrified at her own audacity.

“Questioning figures of authority?” Daphne tsked. “We’ve been a bad influence on you, Granger.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 400 kudos?! You guys are incredible!!  
> Double update today, since this chapter is a shortie  
> Also, FYI: I do not condone slavery in any way. It's awful and insidious and leaves lingering, intergenerational effects that we're still dealing with today. I just want to worldbuild, and if I was insensitive about real-world slavery, I'm sorry, please let me know and I'll try to fix it


	17. Year 2, Part 4

Next Sunday morning, she sat down with the Ravenclaws again. She’d introduced Luna to her friends a few days ago – she and Hermione had got on like oil and water, but Hermione was at least less abrasive about it under Neville’s disapproving eye. Neville and Luna had struck up a shy friendship, and the other boy would often invite her over to the Gryffindor table during meals. It warmed her, to say the least, to see that Luna would have friends and protectors in their own right. Neville was deceptively quiet, but she’d still seen the satisfied look on his face when Cho Chang, Marietta Edgecomb, and Patricia Stimpson came in one morning with vomit-colored puffs of hair. The look he’d shared with the Weasley twins made her wonder if she’d underestimated him. Even Diggory, who usually sat with his own friends and rarely interacted with her outside of the common room, waved a friendly hello to Luna whenever Rose had dragged her over to the Hufflepuff table.

She noticed, to her pleasure, that Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown had all joined Padma at the Ravenclaw table. She didn’t remember if they’d done so in her past life, but this was the first time she’d noticed it since first year now that she was specifically searching for inter-House friendships. Very likely it had nothing to do with her at all, but it still gave her a pleased little hum to see.

“Morning, Luna,” she greeted, smiling at the blonde as she pushed over a bowl of strawberries.

“What do you mean?” Luna asked. “Do you wish me a good morning, or mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not; or that you feel good this morning; or that it is a morning to be good on?”

“All of them at once, I suppose,” Rose said, then giggled. “Luna! I never knew you’d read _The Hobbit!”_

“Oh, yes,” Luna said agreeably. “It’s a very detailed history, isn’t it?”

“I always thought it was a mite inaccurate with its descriptions of goblins and trolls.”

“Well, not everything can be perfect. That would be a very boring world to live in, wouldn’t it?”

“That’s true, although I’d prefer for books to minimize their inaccuracies as much as possible.”

“You must not like the new Defence professor very much, then.”

Rose burst out laughing. She didn’t remember Luna being this funny, but honestly she wasn’t going to question it.

“No, not at all.”

“Did you really set a Water Gimbert on him?”

“A Water… oh, you mean occamy? Yes, I did, Macha loves Cornish Pixies.”

“Does she also love death and bloodshed?”

Rose’s lips twitched. “So she says.”

“She must be a very interesting Gimbert.”

“She certainly thinks so.”

Luna giggled. “I think I’d like to meet her one day.”

“You will, Luna. I think she’d like to meet you too.”

They ate in companionable silence, chatter only resuming once Harry and Neville sat down across from them. Rose snuck a careful glance sideways and saw the wondering light in Luna’s eyes. She recognized it – it was the look of someone who couldn’t believe they were surrounded by friends. Rose couldn’t resist bumping Luna’s shoulder with her own. At the other girl’s questioning look, she grinned.

“I think this is certainly a good morning to feel good on, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Luna giggled shyly. “It certainly is.”

* * *

“The first official meeting of the defence club is going to be in December,” Harry told her. His green eyes were bright with excitement. Beside him, Susan practically vibrated. She could barely see Anthony behind all the books.

They were in the library, tucked away at the very back in an effort to hide from Madam Pince. As usual, the Muggle Studies section was completely deserted.

“Suze and I are making lesson plans,” Harry grinned. It was adorable how excited he was; Rose had to stop herself from pinching his cheeks and cooing.

Susan nodded vigorously. “I’ve written to Aunty Amelia – she’s ever so pleased to help; she’s sent over a list of spells and book titles she thinks might be useful. Harry and I are going through them and coming up with lesson plans.”

Rose arched an eyebrow. “You do know this isn’t _actually_ an official class, don’t you? I’m fairly sure you don’t need lesson plans.”

Harry shrugged. “They won’t be able to get the classroom set up ‘til November, anyway,” he said. “Got to update the enchantments and things. Might as well, yeah?”

She smiled fondly at them. “Well, it’s your prerogative, I suppose. Let me know if you need any help, won’t you?” Harry knew she had some experience in the matter, after all, and she could tell he’d caught her meaning by his grin.

Harry and Susan exchanged glances. “We’re definitely going to take you up on that,” Susan promises. “You’re by far the best in our year at spellwork.”

Rose blushed, because reincarnation was kind of cheating. She already knew what it felt like to have her magic cast those spells – it was like finding her way through a recently-overgrown path. Difficult, but at least a path had once existed. Harry gave her a look that said _don’t even think about denying it._

“What’s Anthony doing, then?” Rose asked. The boy peered at her from behind his books. They were piled around him like a shield. Rose was tempted to topple the precarious pile.

 _“I’m_ working with Professor Flitwick to make sure Harry and Susan don’t get us all killed,” he grumbled. “They’ve got absolutely no respect for basic safety measures.”

 _“Basic safety measures?”_ Susan echoed disbelievingly. “You’re worse than my aunt!”

Harry nodded in agreement. “Far worse than my Uncle Remus.”

“Because, of the three of us, I’m the only sane one here,” Anthony moaned in despair. He shot her a look with narrowed blue eyes when Rose giggled.

“Shut up, Potter, this is all your fault.”

“You can leave anytime you want,” Rose replied innocently.

He scowled. “No, I can’t just leave a project like this unfinished and you _know_ that, you prat.”

(there was a flicker of hope inside her – here, Anthony started learning Defence earlier. It added another layer of protection to him in case it all went to hell)

* * *

Rose was disappointed by the muted reactions to Blaise, Daphne, and Theo’s presence at the Gryffindor table one Saturday morning, near the end of September. Theo seemed to pick up on her mood and rolled his eyes at her.

“You can’t spend your Hogwarts career pushing for more inter-House friendships and be surprised when it actually _happens,_ you know.”

A few seats away, Dean nodded. “Honestly, we’ve been expecting them for weeks.” He passed the saltshaker to Blaise at his request.

Rose stared. “And you’re not… bothered? At all?”

Beside him, Seamus shrugged. “They’re alright, for Slytherins. Besides, Ron hasn’t woken up yet.”

Dean winced. “Yeah… better be careful when he shows up, mate.”

Blaise grinned, baring his teeth. “I look forwards to it.”

(Ronald had needed to be frog-marched from the hall by the Weasley twins. Percy had shot them a contrite look. Ginny had purposefully sat down near their group with a huff and apology)

(it would’ve been funny if it didn’t hurt so much)

* * *

“Potter?”

Rose looked up from her essay at the sound of Diggory’s voice. “Yes?”

“Could I have a word? Outside?”

“Alright,” Rose said. He sounded uncharacteristically curt. She frantically wracked her brain for something she might’ve done to offend him but came up blank. Smiling apologetically at her friends, she made her way across the common room.

“I’ve got a… friend,” Diggory said hesitantly, “who says that you did something to her.”

Rose furrowed her brows. “That’s awfully nonspecific.”

“She wants to talk to you,” Diggory blurted out. “And she knows we’re friendly, so I said – “

“Alright,” Rose said again. She couldn’t keep the confused look off her face.

Diggory looked immensely relieved. “Oh, good, she should be waiting just through here – “

They went into an abandoned classroom and saw Cho Chang standing hesitantly near the center of the room.

“Oh,” Rose said, with understanding. She saw the burn very clearly on Chang’s cheek and couldn’t help the satisfied twist of her stomach. Healing spells and potions wouldn’t work – she’d need to wait for it to heal naturally.

“Potter,” Chang greeted nervously. “Well met.”

“Chang,” she replied neutrally. She didn’t return the greeting and saw the girl flinch.

“That was incredibly rude,” Diggory began, but he was cut off.

“No,” Chang said. “She… I deserve it.” The girl met Rose’s eyes and straightened. “I asked Cedric to bring you here because I wanted to explain myself.”

Beside her, Diggory seemed incredibly confused. “Cho – “

“Just let me speak, alright?” Chang asked. Diggory nodded. She took a breath.

“I’m sorry I never stopped them,” she told Rose. “Marietta and I – we’ve been friends since we were children, and Heidi’s her second cousin. When I saw them – I knew what we did was wrong, but I was too afraid to speak up.”

Against her will, Rose felt sympathy. Was peer pressure not the pitfall so many Slytherins had stumbled upon? If she gave them a second chance, if she actively worked to redeem them… could she really condemn Chang?

(no, she couldn’t)

But Luna…

“You hurt her,” Rose said quietly. “Did you know, when I offered to be her friend, she said she’d never had any friends before?” Involuntarily, her voice caught in her throat. Rose-of-the-Cupboard was screaming, hammering her fists against the door. Rose, Master of Death, refused to let her out.

(she was confusing her Lunas, wasn’t she?)

Chang cringed. “I… I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“I’m not the one you should be apologizing to,” Rose said. “I’m not the one you bullied.”

It had only been two weeks in this timeline, but when it came to bullying it was never _only_ anything.

“I’ll apologize to Loo - Lovegood,” Chang said, voice hardening with determination. “I’m not talking with Marietta and Heidi anymore. They might come after you, though,” she said, worry creeping into her voice. “Try to pull you away from Loon - Lovegood. I think… if they haven’t figured it out by now, it won’t take them long. It’s a bit obvious,” she added apologetically.

Rose felt her eyes harden. “If they want to come after me, they can go ahead and try,” she said quietly. “Luna’s my friend now, and I’m not abandoning her for anything, let alone two little girls who think it’s funny to steal a firstie’s shoes.”

With effort, she unclenched her fists, flexing her fingers.

“I appreciate the warning though,” Rose said, because she wanted to give credit where it was due.

Chang gave her a weak smile. “It was the least I could do.”

Rose bit her lip, hearing the dismissal but lingering anyway. “I want to be there when you apologize,” she said. “Luna shouldn’t have to be alone with you.”

“That’s fair,” Chang whispered. Rose nodded at her, turning to Diggory.

“I’m going back to the common room,” she told him. In all honesty, she’d forgotten he was there. He was glancing between Rose and Chang, a horrified realization dawning in his eyes. He didn’t answer.

Rose left anyway. Unbearably nosy as she was, she whispered a supersensory charm just outside the doorway, listening in on their conversation as she walked down the corridor.

“You were bullying Luna?” Diggory said quietly.

“I… not directly.”

…

“I grew up with her, you know. We live near each other.”

“I’m sorry.”

“That burn on your cheek – Potter did that?”

“She cursed our pillows; Loon – Lovegood must’ve pointed us out to her.”

“What did you almost call her? Loon-something?”

“… Looney. Looney Lovegood.”

“I’m glad Potter cursed you.”

“Cedric… I’m sorry - ”

“That’s not good enough, Cho. I thought you were better than that.”

Rose dispelled the charm, hurrying further down the corridor. She… she’d forgotten Diggory had taken Chang to the Yule Ball. Had they been together even now, two years earlier? Rose pushed down a prickle of guilt.

Chang was a bully. It didn’t matter that she’d repented, that she was a child – Rose would never be her friend, if only for Luna’s sake. She wouldn’t set out to make her life miserable, like she would do to Edgecomb and Stimpson if they attacked her, but she wouldn’t be nice to her. Chang had hurt her friend, and that was unforgiveable.

(she’d never been as alone as Luna had been. Chang might apologize but she wouldn’t understand)

Footsteps. Hurrying.

“Potter – wait!”

She turned and looked at Diggory.

“I didn’t know,” he said hurriedly. “I swear I didn’t know – “

“I believe you.”

Diggory relaxed, falling into step alongside her.

“I’m sorry,” Rose said quietly. “I didn’t know you two were close.”

He looked away, a blush on his cheeks. “We weren’t – I thought maybe…” he stammered.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said at last, firmly. “I’ve never been close to Luna, but we’re practically neighbours, you know? I can’t just…” he trailed off miserably.

She bit her lip, uncertain. She’d never been good at comforting people.

(it was telling that apologies and threats came to her so much more readily than comfort) 

“I like Luna,” Diggory said. “I know she’s a bit odd, but she’s still – well. She’s a good person.”

“Yeah,” Rose agreed. She glanced at him sidelong. “You know, I thought you’d tell me off for the curse.”

If there was one thing she was certain about regarding Diggory, it was that he was principled. He had a strong sense of right and wrong. He’d offered to replay that Quidditch match in third year, even though he’d won. He’d given her a clue about the egg because she’d helped him with the dragons. He’d refused to take the Triwizard Cup, insisting she take it. That he wasn’t frowning at her disapprovingly for her very painful curse… it was puzzling.

“I wouldn’t’ve done it myself,” he said at last. “It’s too… cruel, for my taste. I’d have gone more for humiliation. But I understand why you did.” He grinned a little at the surprise she couldn’t quite hide. “What, you thought that because I was so cheerful and even-tempered, I’d disapprove of a little bit of revenge?”

Rose stared at him. “Yes, actually.”

The boy actually _tutted_ at her. “You of all people ought to know that we aren’t always what we seem to be,” he grinned.

“… What do you mean, ‘me of all people’?” A thrum of fear coursed through her.

Diggory gave her a derisive look. They’d come, almost unconsciously, to the kitchens. He didn’t answer until they were sitting across from each other, hands wrapped around cups of hot chocolate.

“You’re not the only one with friends in Slytherin,” he said at last. “We keep it quiet, obviously, but – well. I’m not sure exactly what you did; all I know is that one day Slytherins who’d sneered at me and called me blood-traitor abruptly stopped. It was like I didn’t exist; some were even _nice_ to me. I asked a few of my Slytherin friends, and while they didn’t say anything, I picked up enough clues to know you had something to do with it.” Here, he gave her a very hard look.

“Everyone thinks you’re a bubbly, naïve little girl, Potter. But if you’re the kind of person who can talk _seventh years_ into leaving your friends alone, you can’t possibly be everything you seem. And you confirmed it today – you were bloody scary, all ‘if they want to come after me, they can go ahead and try,’” he mimicked, deepening his voice.

“I did _not_ sound like that,” Rose squawked, offended.

Diggory grinned. “Oh, but you did,” he assured her. “I was there, Potter, I would know.”

“… Rose.” She said.

“What?”

“Call me Rose.”

 _(call me Rose,_ she’d said, once upon a time, a year later and forever ago)

 _(call me Rose,_ she’d said, before grinning and grabbing the Cup alongside him)

 _(call me Rose,_ she’d said, moments before he’d died at her feet)

“Quid pro quo?”

“Alright.”

“Alright, what?”

“… You’re ridiculous, Diggory. Alright, _Cedric.”_

“Thank you, Rose. That’s what I like to hear.”

…

“You really don’t mind?”

“Don’t mind what?”

“Me. That I threaten people. Hurt them, sometimes.”

“No. I’d do it too, if I were forced to, I think. And I understand why you did. Besides, at least I know to never piss you off.”

“Thanks, Diggory,” she laughed, feeling warm with affection. 

_“Cedric,”_ he corrected, frowning in mock-disapproval.

“I’m sorry! It’s a habit!” she said defensively, holding up her hands. Then she smirked.

“You sure you want to upset me, _Diggory?”_ she asked, snickering as he made a show of begging her forgiveness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHH I am _so excited_ for the next chapter!!! There's a lot of worldbuilding and friendship and other wholesome things in that one, so get ready!!


	18. Year 2, Part 5

When Rose sat down at her and Professor Sprout’s biweekly meeting in the beginning of October, she was taken off guard by the woman’s beaming smile.

“I’ve got very good news for you, Miss Potter,” she said. “The Headmaster has found a place suitable for students of all Houses to study without needing to keep their voices down. It may take a bit of time to explain - would you like to bring your brother and your friends? We can meet back at my office in an hour or so, once I’ve seen the other students.”

Rose perked up immediately. “Oh, yes, absolutely! Thank you so much professor, I’ll see you in an hour!”

Professor Sprout gave her a fond smile as Rose nearly tripped in her hurry to scramble out of her office. That was _fast._ She hadn’t expected Dumbledore to do anything about the situation – she’d been planning on using it to give Professor Sprout a reason to lessen her respect for him. Had she misread – _no, not now,_ she told herself. She tucked that train of thought to follow later – right now, she needed to find her friends.

They were in the library, surrounded by a number of their yearmates. She saw several look up in fear and relax when they realized it was her and not Madam Pince, who’d been glaring at them fiercely for weeks.

“Professor Sprout found a place for us to move to,” Rose whispered. “So we can study and practice magic and talk as much as we want.” Immediately, people looked up. Hermione practically slammed her quill back into her bottle of ink before leaning forwards and staring at her eagerly.

Rose grinned. “She’ll be showing Harry and I in an hour, if anyone wants to come.”

A chorus of yeses, nods, and eager grins was her answer. She exchanged an excited glance with Harry before forcibly calming herself down, setting her wand to buzz in an hour. In the meantime, she needed to work on her Charms essay. Why exactly did _tarantallegra_ work on inanimate objects, anyway? Perhaps it was because the charm’s magic depended on perception? And whatever she perceived as the target’s legs would therefore spasm?

Hmm. That brought up the question of, if she were Confunded into thinking that a person’s arms were their legs, would casting _tarantallegra_ make their arms dance instead? Rose jotted a note in her planner to ask Professor Flitwick.

* * *

When Professor Sprout saw the crowd of second years waiting outside her office, she burst out laughing.

“Well, come along, I suppose,” she chuckled. They trailed after her like a gaggle of ducklings. Rose had begun their study groups as a ploy to familiarize Harry with people outside his House and vice versa, but she’d come to genuinely enjoy them. She loved the feeling of companionship, of _togetherness_ , she got when she surrounded herself with her friends and acquaintances, working together to keep each other focused, distracting each other with an interesting snippet or eventually dissolving into gossip. She had a core group of friends, but she considered everyone in the study group part of her outer ring as well.

(she told herself it didn’t matter that it’d shrunk, ever since Macha’s reveal)

Sprout led them down to the Great Hall, the rest of them exchanging confused glances behind her. There wasn’t anything on this floor save for a few abandoned classrooms and the Entrance Hall – were they going outside?

To everyone’s shock, Sprout stopped in front of a pair of double doors next to the Great Hall that _definitely_ hadn’t been there before. They were enormous – not as large as that of the Great Hall, but nearly twice Rose’s height. They were carved elaborately with the Hogwarts coat of arms: a lion, eagle, badger, and snake, all curling around an ornate letter ‘H’.

“Hogwarts is a very special castle,” she said, smiling fondly at their expressions. “There are a number of rooms that have fallen into disuse over the centuries – I myself hadn’t known of this one until the Headmaster told me. Some, like this room, the Ritual Rooms, and the Ballroom, require a great deal of magic to maintain, and when people stopped using them, they were absorbed back into the magic of the castle. The Headmaster has chosen to bring back one of those rooms: the Hogwarts Common Room.”

A hushed silence fell as Professor Sprout pushed open the door and, one by one, they filed into the room.

It was _beautiful._

There was an enormous fireplace crackling merrily on their right. Several more dotted the walls. In front of each were a number of old-fashioned couches and armchairs atop plush burgundy rugs that Rose realized with a start she recognized from the Room of Hidden Things. She exchanged a shocked glance with Harry, but really – she shouldn’t have been surprised. The things there must’ve come from _somewhere,_ after all _._

The Common Room was the size of the Great Hall. The wall on the right was covered in plant life – the same ivy that, Rose realized with a start, covered Hufflepuff’s common room. Enormous glass windows filled the wall directly opposite them, looking out over the lake. Light streamed through them, illuminating the same tables and chairs that Rose recognized from all four House common rooms. The tables were all sorts of different sizes – some seated two, others four, some stretched all the way out to accommodate twenty. They were oddly spread out, though. The resemblance to the Great Hall was in more than size – the enchanted sky, floating candles, torches along the wall – were all the same.

There was something about this room, something odd, that made her think of the Room of Requirement. It was that same faint, nearly indiscernible question in the air, a feeling that made her think the Common Room was waiting for something.

“There are a number of enchantments,” Professor Sprout said, breaking the silence abruptly enough to make several of them jump, “that have been added to this room. Away from the preservation spells and delicate books of the library, and from the protection and alarm spells of the dormitories, the Founders were able to add a number of interesting features.” There’s a sly glint to her eye that sets Rose alight with excitement.

“For example,” she says, leading them over to the nearest table, “you may manipulate the tables and chairs as you wish.” She drew her wand and traced a line down the center of the table. Rose suddenly noticed the markings etched onto the sides of the tables – little symbols, ‘X’’s and circles, a plus and minus sign. Sprout’s wand went from one ‘X’ to another directly across from it. A line appeared, glowing, following the path of her wand but perfectly straight, and with a little _pop_ , the table split cleanly in two. Additional legs grew from the edges of the split, and soon there were two tables where once there was one.

Hermione gave a small squeal and Professor Sprout smiles at her. “Indeed, Miss Granger. You may put the tables back together,” she tapped the top of each table with her wand, then tapped one circle on each. There’s a _shlick_ sound as they glue themselves back together.

“Add more tables,” she tapped the plus sign. A copy appeared in an empty space to the side of them that made her realize the reason for all the empty space. She thought she might faint. This was an _incredible_ piece of magic – why had she never heard of such a thing before?

“Or remove them,” she tapped the minus sign. The table disappeared.

“Unfortunately,” Professor Sprout says, “you can only add or remove chairs. The enchantments had to be layered on each tree as it grew, but the exact process was lost with Rowena Ravenclaw and no one has been able to unravel them – in 1254, a mistake made on one table caused all but four to crumble into ash, and the Headmistress at the time forbade any further study. They can’t be removed from the room either; something about it must sustain them. I’m afraid the sofas and things you see here are all you have.”

 _All you have,_ Professor Sprout said, like this wasn’t the most amazing, incredible, mind-blowing room she’d found since the Room of Requirement – maybe even _more_ so, because this room was _permanent,_ would retain the changes made to it even if there was no one inside _._ These tables and chairs were _accessible permanent conjuration,_ something that only a select few Charms Masters were capable of, and Rowena Ravenclaw had –

Rose’s brain fizzed out. She couldn’t wrap her head around the enormity, the _implications,_ of this room – first of all, the Founders had intended for Hogwarts to be united, else they wouldn’t have made it. Second of all, Hogwarts wasn’t always as divided as it was now – Rose wasn’t reaching for some pipe dream, what she was doing was _bringing back_ what had once been. Finally, she _needed_ to dig into Hogwarts’ and Britain’s history more – the room had fallen into disuse, after all, and she couldn’t get sidetracked by the realization that _Hogwarts could apparently absorb unused, highly magical rooms_ , no _wonder_ she’d never found the ritual rooms – which meant that at one point, the Houses had begun to separate. Rose needed to figure out when and why this had happened to ensure she wouldn’t make the same mistakes.

Rose looked at the Common Room again. Holy _fucking fuck,_ this was so much more than she’d even _imagined_ would be possible, Rose was going to lose her mind –

She sat down heavily on the floor and buried her face in her hands.

“I think my brain’s going to explode,” she moaned. “Harry, will you get me my journal?”

Because she couldn’t move from this spot, not even to get her bag, until she jotted down all the thoughts running rampant in her brain right now.

“I think I’m going to pass out,” Hermione said weakly. Someone really _did_ pass out – Rose heard a thump and a yelp of “Lisa!” so it had presumably been Lisa Turpin.

“I suppose I’ll leave you to it, then,” Professor Sprout said cheerfully and _oh,_ that woman was _evil,_ she was clearly enjoying watching their brains melt, and left. She popped her head back in a moment later.

“Better get started now, children,” she said. “Professor Dumbledore will be telling the Prefects about the room tonight and they’ll be spreading it through their Houses tomorrow.”

Rose heard several people whimper.

* * *

Eventually, they pulled themselves back together. Susan hit Lisa with an _ennervate,_ Neville ran to the kitchens and came back laden with a tray of water, and Anthony Goldstein convinced Terry Boot to stop running his hands over the chairs lovingly.

(“I know it’s cool, Terry, trust me, _I know,_ but you look like a massive creeper and I refuse to associate with – “)

They wandered the room, gazed out the windows, marvelled at its similarity to the Great Hall. Sue Li peeked through a door on the right and said, “It’s the Great Hall! Wait a moment - ”

It seemed that the appearance (or re-appearance?) of the Hogwarts Common Room had also triggered a change in the Great Hall. The tables, formerly clear between meals, were now dotted with bowls of fruit, pastries, and jugs of water and pumpkin juice. There were even a few tea trays. Neville made an irritated noise at having run all the way to the kitchens when water had been there _the whole time_.

They all gaped at it. None of them were quite sure why it had happened, but there was now a readily available supply of food and drink _right there,_ so there were certainly no complaints. Michael Corner actually cheered.

“Now I don’t have to worry about missing breakfast!” He said gleefully.

Mandy Brocklehurst laughed in realization. “I don’t have to worry about missing dinner to study!”

“I can get snacks!”

Rose was delirious with happiness. This was everything she’d ever wanted, everything she hadn’t _known_ she’d wanted.

They staked their claim of the largest table, right next to the windows. It took them a few minutes to size it properly – the plus and minus signs added and removed three feet or so of table, but the minus sign only worked if that end of the table had an additional foot of empty space with nothing on it and no one sitting there. Rose supposed it was sensible – it would’ve been an awful way to prank someone, disappearing their table as they tried to write an essay.

It was like learning about magic all over again – she was suffused with that same awe and wonder and, looking at the faces of her peers, they were feeling the same way. Even those who’d grown up in the Wizarding World gazed around the room reverently. Everyone said the Founders had been geniuses, but Rose hadn’t truly understood it until she’d been shown this room. Something deep inside her _ached_ at the thought of all that knowledge, lost.

“Are you alright?” Susan asked. Rose blinked at her.

“I’m fine. Why?”

“… You’re crying,” Susan said, worried. Almost unconsciously, Rose reached up and felt the wetness on her cheeks.

“Oh,” she whispered. She summoned up a wavering smile. “I’m just… really happy.”

* * *

That night, Rose lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. It was a boring, dull blankness that made her long for the stars of her bedroom in Potter Manor. She slipped on a dressing gown and a pair of slippers, not bothering to silence Susan’s curtains – they’d been roommates for months now, and Rose knew how deeply the other girl slept.

She didn’t want to encounter Cedric right now – she needed to think, but she hadn’t thought of practising her Disillusionment or Notice-Me-Not spells. Rose made a mental note to do just that, then walked over to the now-familiar window seat. If she angled herself just right, and if Cedric didn’t look around on his way out, then she ought to be fine.

Really, she just needed to _look_ at something. Giving her eyes something to focus on freed up the part of her brain that chose what to look at. Rose fixed her gaze on the shadows of the Forbidden Forest and considered Albus Dumbledore.

She knew the man was anti-Slytherin – the end-of-year points he’d award to snatch the House Cup away from them had made it obvious – unless… he’d been trying to get in her good books? No, he’d given Sirius a slap on the wrist for nearly killing Snape – unless he’d deemed Sirius more valuable than Snape and chosen to go easy on him?

An ivy tendril tapped her shoulder. She glanced over at it and it nuzzled her cheek. Really, it was worryingly perceptive, though seeing as it’d been living in the heart of Hogwarts for untold years, it wasn’t all that surprising. Rose scratched gently at its stem and the ivy made a pleased sound. Her thoughts returned to Dumbledore, though her heartbeat had slowed.

He hadn’t treated her any differently for all that she was friends with Slytherins. She’d thought she’d have gotten some looks at _Theodore Nott_ , at least, and yet…

Unless he was less anti-Slytherin and more pro-Gryffindor? Favoring one house, ignoring the rest? He _did_ have a bit of a thing about redemption, after all. Hadn’t the man tried to redeem _Draco Malfoy_ as the boy was trying to _kill_ him? Perhaps he had fewer prejudices than she’d thought. Was she therefore being unfair for disliking him? Rose was self-aware enough to know that she herself was prejudiced in favor of Gryffindor and Slytherin, if only a little. Who was she to condemn Dumbledore for his own prejudices?

But no. He was far more prejudiced than she, and didn’t take the same steps to mitigate its effects. _She_ would’ve never awarded those end-of-term points, snatching victory from the hands of the Slytherins. So perhaps the man was pro-Gryffindor and anti-Slytherin, unless the Slytherin in question had given him reason to believe they could be redeemed?

Fine. Still, was it fair of her to dislike Dumbledore so much, then? Was it fair of her to hold such intense levels of distrust?

 _Yes,_ her mind whispered. _You’re only human – you’re irrational._

 _That’s not good enough,_ she argued back fiercely. _I might be irrational, but I want to at least be_ aware _of it. My dislike goes deeper than prejudice – it’s personal._

Dumbledore had left her at the Dursleys. Something in Rose settled at the thought – there was no possible way he didn’t know how they’d treated her, it wasn’t like they’d been particularly subtle

_(oversized, hand-me-down clothes; messy haircuts; too-solemn eyes on a too-thin face)_

_(no, they hadn’t been subtle at all)_

and Figg had babysat her for literal years. He’d known, had left her there, denied her sanctuary at Hogwarts over the summer.

(it was telling that, for all that she’d managed to separate the past and current versions of everyone else, Dumbledore alone remained)

Why? Was it just because of the blood wards? Or was there more?

… didn’t Dumbledore advocate for wixen-muggle integration? He’d looked very kindly upon muggles, that she knew, but exactly how far Progressive was he? Did he see muggles as harmless?

(he was an old man, set in his ways)

(others could change, but he could not)

(and she’d barely interacted with him in this life – what reason would he have to change?)

… ah, bollocks. He did, didn’t he? He thought muggles were human but not human enough to do actual harm to a wix. That made a terrifying amount of sense – when he’d first met Tom Riddle at the orphanage, Dumbledore had seen _thief, sociopath, Dark._ Rose, on the other hand, had seen _desperation_ , _fear, ambition._ Oh, there had been so much fear – when his wardrobe had burst into flames, Riddle had gone blank, just for a moment, before angering. But Rose had recognized that blankness, that defeat – it was the look of someone who’d fought and scratched and clawed for what little they had, only to see the fruits of their labour gone in an instant, the look of someone who’d had that happen all too many times, the look of someone berating themselves for hoping it’d be different this time.

(they said that insanity was doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result)

Even in her sixth year, Dumbledore had put most of the blame on Riddle. But if the muggles hadn’t bullied him, if they’d just left him alone, he wouldn’t have been as possessive, would he? He wouldn’t have been so cynical, so bitter. He might’ve still become a Dark Lord, but he’d been set on that path a long time ago.

Dumbledore had never learned that last lesson – he’d gone as far in the opposite direction as he could when he and Grindelwald split, hadn’t he? Grindelwald had advocated for the domination of muggles, so Dumbledore had advocated the opposite: integration. He saw muggles as gentle, harmless creatures and thought he knew best.

So perhaps Dumbledore wasn’t anti-every-Slytherin. Perhaps he was just wilfully naïve and generalized. But he held three positions of power in their world, so that wilful naivety could have terrible consequences. 

Rose-of-the-Cupboard at last tore free of her restraints.

She thought of her younger self, a tiny black-haired girl, hunched over a stovetop at five years old, balancing precariously on a chair and getting locked in her cupboard when Dudley pushed her over.

She thought of Snape, cowering from his father.

She thought of Hermione, who hadn’t once gone home for the holidays after third year. Hermione had Obliviated her existence from her parents’ minds later, when she could’ve easily sent them overseas to keep them safe. She’d never reversed those memory charms either.

She thought of Dennis and Colin Creevey, who’d become something like Oliver Wood’s adopted younger brothers. The older boy had taken the muggleborns under his wing, bringing them into his home for the holidays and summers.

Not every muggle-raised child was abused, but a few months before she died an analysis had been published showing that five out of every ten muggleborn either died or became an Obscurus before they turned eleven. McGonagall had allowed a historian access to the Hogwarts Book of Admission, which recorded the names of every magical child born or living in Great Britain. In his decades-long reign as Headmaster, Dumbledore had never allowed anyone but himself to see it.

Rose curled up in her seat and pressed her face into her knees. When Voldemort was taken care of, she promised herself, she would advocate for the rights of muggle-raised wixen. When she was no longer at Hogwarts, when Dumbledore no longer had such easy eyes and access to her, she would stand against him. Until then, however…

Rose curled up tighter. A tendril of ivy wound itself around her wrist, gently squeezing in a way that reminded her of Macha.

Until then, she needed to wait. Lie low, avoid doing anything too drastic to attract his attention, and practice her but-I-just-want-everyone-to-be-friends look. 

(it didn’t work)

* * *

Despite the unending incredibleness of the Hogwarts Common Room, alas, it wasn’t perfect. Library books set off a screeching alarm whenever students attempted to bring them in, which complicated studying quite a bit. They all got very good at the _geminio_ charm – the copy eventually vanished in anywhere from a few minutes to a few hours, no one had quite managed to figure out how to add in diagrams, nor did the enchantments the book had been spelled with replicate so a lot of moving images ended up muggle-like, but all in all they agreed that the reappearance of the Hogwarts Common Room was a net positive.

(the look on Terry Boot’s face when he tried to cheat and create copies of copies had been hilarious when all copies vanished at the same time as the first one)

It was still unutterably _odd,_ however, to walk in and see students from all four Houses (mostly half-bloods and muggleborns from Slytherin, though – and hadn’t it been a shock to realize that there were muggleborns in Slytherin?) sitting around a table playing exploding snap, or arguing over some bit of magical theory, or gossiping away happily in front of a fireplace. Rose still got a mild feeling of unreality every time she saw it.

In the beginning, students had stuck with those from their own Houses, only using the Hogwarts Common Room for easy access to food – and Rose now had a creeping suspicion as to why _that_ had happened – but eventually they began reaching out across House borders. It had been small at first – asking a Ravenclaw a question, a Hufflepuff to demonstrate a spell – but bonds were still being formed. It made things easier for students with siblings in other Houses too – Harry and Rose had the Badger Hole, but Padma and Parvati Patil barely left the room to go to class.

The first years took to it far more easily. They were less set in their ways – still with ingrained prejudice, but they were still settling into the routine of Hogwarts. She saw Ginny Weasley and Colin Creevey doing homework with Meredith Hopkirk and Fraser Wilkerson of Hufflepuff. Wilkerson, in turn, was friends with half-blood Kelly Carpenter in Slytherin. After Harry had gently pulled Colin aside and told him that, as in the Muggle world, it was rude to take photos of others constantly and without consent, the excitable boy had gotten a lot more contentious about his photographs. Rose had heard rumors of a yearbook.

Rose had never felt so blissful as she had been the past few days. Things were progressing _,_ her plans had gone better than she’d even imagined _,_ Hogwarts was unifying _…_

Which was why, as she skipped into the library, pointedly ignoring Madam Pince’s glare (it had been weeks ago! She wished the librarian would get over it already) and caught sight of one Felix Rookwood at a nearby table, sitting alone and surrounded by books, she didn’t hesitate before veering towards him.

(she, unfortunately, couldn’t just ‘ _geminio_ and go,’ as her peers had dubbed it – _geminio_ didn’t work at all on the older, rarer books that’d been marinating in the thick magic of Hogwarts for hundreds of years, and Ancient Runes was called _Ancient_ for a reason)

Rookwood studiously ignored her. Rose stood in front of him for over a minute before he sighed and glared at her.

“What do you want?” He growled.

Rose beamed as if she’d never heard a kinder welcome. To his credit, the only change in Rookwood’s expression was a slight twitch in the corner of his left eye.

“I don’t think we’ve officially met, for all that we’ve been deskmates for weeks! I’m Rose Potter; well met.” Rose inclined her head to indicate Rookwood as her superior. His eye twitched again.

“Felix Rookwood,” he ground out as though in pain, holding out a hand. “Well met.”

She hadn’t given him much thought until Prefect Melton had warned her away and – well. Melton should’ve known better; everyone knew the best way to get a child to do something was to tell them not to. And Rose was definitely still a child, reincarnation or not.

(he hadn’t told her to go away, nor had he insulted her yet)

_(you’re just like your father, but with your mother’s eyes)_

_(Rookwood’s been raised just like his father)_

“It’s a pleasure,” Rose chirped, plopping down into the seat next to him. She glanced at his work, widening her eyes in feigned shock. “Oh, are you working on the translation Professor Babbling assigned?”

(they were not their parents)

Rookwood seemed to have decided to ignore her. Perhaps he’d used up every ounce of his manners and self-control for the formal greeting and now didn’t trust himself to speak. Or maybe he thought she’d go away if he stayed silent. He didn’t reply, not once, in the four hours she spent next to him, not even when she asked him classwork-related questions. He didn’t move away either, though, so Rose counted it as a point in her favor.

“See you in class, Rookwood!” Rose said cheerfully. Her good mood hadn’t dimmed and was in fact renewed when she returned to the Hogwarts Common Room and found Blaise and Terry in a heated argument. Rose sided with Terry on principle and was soon engrossed in explaining why tea was a superior beverage to coffee, until Daphne hit them all with Stinging Hexes to shut them up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've just finished with the first task and oh my, let me tell you, it is going to be a TRIP.   
> Anyways, hope you enjoyed the chapter! It's never made sense to me that there wasn't a study hall or common area for all four Houses to relax. Like, what if you had siblings in another House? Would you only be able to see them at mealtimes and such?? So yeah, I headcanon that there _was_ such a space but it got removed by some Headmaster or other a long time ago, and filled it with plants for both worldbuilding reasons and just because I could (mwahaha)


	19. Year 2, Part 6

When the attack came, it had been a shock. It really shouldn’t have been – Chang had warned her, after all, but in the rush of discovering the Hogwarts Common Room, Rose had forgotten.

(every time things were going well, something like this happened)

 _“Kano emeto!”_ Rose heard. She flinched by reflex. A spell shot by her, missing her by inches.

Rose turned, flicking her wrist to send her wand shooting from her holster into her hand. The girls in front of her looked vaguely familiar – where had she seen them before? She dodged a _petrificus totalus_ and sent a _stupefy_ and _incarcerous_ back in quick secession. Her aim, honed over the summer, was dead on, and the girls hadn’t spent months dodging Stinging Hexes either, so she hit them easily. One fell to the ground, unconscious, while the other collapsed next to her fellow, bound in ropes.

“How dare – !“

 _“Stupefy,”_ Rose said. Silence.

She stared at them, flicked out another pair of _stupefy_ ’s to make sure both were unconscious, then levitated them into a nearby abandoned classroom (the castle was littered with the things, it was honestly a little sad). She lay them on the floor and studied their faces, trying to grasp that feeling of recognition…

 _Oh._ Marietta Edgecomb and Patricia Stimpson. She’d forgotten what they’d looked like, Edgecomb especially without the ‘ _SNEAK’_ cursed onto her forehead. This was about Luna, then?

She gazed at their unconscious bodies, wondering what she ought to do. The one time they’d tried to pick on Luna again, she’d spelled their nightgowns with the same burning curse and rearranged their homework so it just read ‘leave Luna alone.’ They hadn’t been stupid enough to try again, so it seemed they’d finally decided to go to the source. If she turned them in, she doubted they’d get much more than a couple detentions. The bullying hadn’t lasted years, nor did she have any evidence beyond Luna’s word. Chang might back her up, but still…

There was something cruel in her eyes as she looked at them. If she really wanted to, she could probably get them in trouble. Luna was several years younger than them; Rose was the sister of the Boy-Who-Lived, model student, kind and helpful and always with a smile on her face, reaching out across House lines. She could probably get them for this, and it would only cost a moderate amount of social credit.

The problem, however, was that she just didn’t want to.

She wanted them to feel as alone and helpless as Luna had. She wanted them to suffer, first for daring to pick on her friend, then for attacking _her._ She needed – _no_ , she corrected herself, she ought to be honest – she _wanted_ to teach them a lesson.

Rose reached into her robes and withdrew her mirror.

“Harry Potter,” she told it. The surface rippled, and soon she was looking at her brother’s face. From the background, he was in the Badger Hole.

Excellent.

“Rose? What’s wrong?” He looked alarmed – she’d never called him during the day before, after all.

“Nothing, I just wanted to know if you knew where Hermione and Daphne were.”

He didn’t look at all convinced by her nonchalance. On the contrary, his face turned uneasy. The Badger Holers knew enough to be appropriately wary of the duo.

“… What for?” He asked cautiously.

Rose sent him a winning smile. “Nothing you wouldn’t agree with!”

He eyed her for another moment before he sighed. “They’re here. Where do you want them to go?”

“Eighth floor, west wing, fourth classroom on the left. Thanks, Harry, love you!”

* * *

That night, while they were having dinner, a sudden hush fell. Rose looked up, very carefully Not Looking at either Daphne or Hermione.

Two figures appeared in the middle of the Great Hall, halfway down the center aisle. One, whose hair had been turned into seaweed, was sopping wet. Her shoes had been transfigured into diving flippers. The other, whose hair had turned vomit-coloured, was be oozing a yellow, sticky-looking fluid. _Her_ shoes had been transfigured into enormous clown shoes.

They’d been put in a full-body bind and stuck to the floor. When Professor Dumbledore reversed it with a wave of his wand, looking furious, there was a sound like a firecracker. Bright blue words appeared over the heads of the two girls: Bullying Cowards.

Dumbledore levitated them to the Hospital Wing. Rose wasn’t worried – they’d been knocked out for hours and the last thing they’d remember was attacking her. Even if Dumbledore tried legilimency, Hermione was excellent at Charms, and had recently learned the Confundus Charm. There was no evidence, and Rose had even had Daphne hit her with the Vomiting Jinx and gone to Madam Pomphrey. After all, how could Rose Potter have had anything to do with it when she was vomiting uncontrollably, and the last thing Marietta Edgecomb’s wand had cast had been that exact jinx?

Between the reputations of herself and Hermione, who’d back her up, they were safe.

(she’d forgotten how vicious Hermione could be in defence of her friends – this was the girl who’d kept Rita Skeeter in a jar for months)

(Daphne was terrifyingly creative)

(Rose had grown up on stories of the Marauder’s pranks)

(together, the three of them had been unstoppable)

Rose took a sip of water to hide her smile.

(later, Rose and Hermione had thanked the house elves so vigorously that several broke into tears. Daphne even smiled)

* * *

After the attack, Rose threw herself back into her studies. Rookwood was still ignoring her, but she’d gotten an acknowledging nod out of him last time, so Rose was still hopeful. Their study group had somehow grown a life of its own – she wasn’t entirely sure what was happening during it now. There were first and third years cropping up, siblings dropping by, subgroups forming and splitting off and being reabsorbed. There had been no permanent injuries or explosive arguments yet though, so Rose happily pushed it out of her mind.

Suddenly, in the middle of October, Harry and Hermione began advocating for the reopening of the Ritual Rooms. This was a shock, even to the Badger Holers – the two had kept it entirely under wraps. It had started and ended with a single speech at dinner. Once Harry had started speaking, no one seemed willing or able to stop him. There was something so fluid about him, in the way he spoke and gestured.

“If I could have your attention please,” Harry had said, walking forwards towards the High Table before turning to face them. At his side stood Hermione.

“Hello,” he said, grinning bashfully. “I know I’m a relatively obscure figure” – a ripple of laughter – “so for those who don’t know me, I’m Harry Potter.

“Some of you may remember that, after the little incident with the troll last year, Professor McGonagall was kind enough – “ and here he dipped his head politely in her direction “ – to let me, my sister Rose, and our friends participate in the traditional Samhain ritual to honour our dead.”

Harry paused, allowing everyone to remember that he was the Boy-Who-Lived only because our parents had died.

“That evening, a number of wixen joined our circle, and even more made their own.”

At this, Hermione stepped forwards. “My name is Hermione Granger,” she said strongly and _wow,_ she had definitely practiced this because her voice was sure and strong and emblazoned with her confidence. “I’m a muggleborn and proud of it. However, I made the mistake of thinking of the Wizarding World as an extension of the Muggle one. On the contrary, this world – our world – has its own customs and traditions, much like a foreign country.

“I was a member of Harry’s ritual circle last Samhain, and I can say with complete conviction that it was one of the most beautiful, wonderful, incredible things I’ve ever experienced. You can imagine my disappointment, therefore, when I learned that such practices were hidden, even _discouraged,_ at Hogwarts. I thought that because wixen had no problem with wizards marrying wizards and saw witch and wizard as equals, there was no prejudice in the magical world.

“I was wrong. There _is_ prejudice, blatant prejudice, even here at Hogwarts. Wix should be allowed to practice their religion without fear. We should not have to hide in the shadows, sneaking out after curfew to abandoned classroom, to take part in what we believe in.”

Tears had welled up in Hermione’s eyes. There could be no doubt of the sincerity behind her words. Harry put his hand on the other girl’s shoulder in a show of comfort and support.

“That’s why we’re here,” Harry said. He gazed at the students, meeting their eyes. “In the same way the Hogwarts Common Room was reformed from the magic of the castle, the Hogwarts Ritual Rooms can also be reformed. I refuse to be ashamed of the way I choose to honor my parents, who sacrificed their lives to give my sister and I a chance at life. Samhain is the only reason I can remember anything of them at all – I see them smile in the candlelight, I hear the echo of their laugh in the quiet, and I feel a shadow of a kiss press itself on my brow. **I** **will not be ashamed.**

“I therefore ask the students of Hogwarts to support me in fixing this mistake. Help me bring back the Ritual Rooms. Please.”

Harry’s voice, so strong throughout, broke on his last word. He swallowed, visibly nervous, staring at a sea of friends, acquaintances, and strangers alike.

Rose, beaming and crying, leaped to her feet, cheering and applauding. It was like she’d broken a spell – all around her, others were standing up, others still sat, but all were applauding. Even those who didn’t practice the Old Ways seemed to support him – the muggle-raised, especially, had not missed Hermione’s allusions. Even those who thought of them as Dark – well, this was the Boy-Who-Lived, or Harry, as his friends called him. He was obviously the most anti-Dark person to ever exist. And his best friend, a muggleborn. Both Gryffindors. Surely, they thought, it couldn’t be that bad.

Harry, smiling wide enough to crack his face, turned to the Headmaster.

“What do you say, Headmaster Dumbledore?” He yelled. The school’s cheers grew louder. Someone (she suspected the Weasley twins) started up a chant: “DUM-BLE-DORE, DUM-BLE-DORE, DUM-BLE-DORE.” 

Dumbledore raised a hand, and silence fell. He smiled at them all; Rose fancied she could see the hidden anger in his eyes.

“Thank you for a wonderful, moving speech, Mr Potter, Miss Granger. If you may be seated,” and here his eyes twinkled. The two hurried back to Gryffindor table where they were met with grins and pats on the back. Hermione was blushing so hard her normally dark skin had taken on a red tint.

“I must admit, it had not occurred to me that the closing of the Ritual Rooms would force practitioners into hiding,” he said. _Liar,_ Rose thought. _What else would it have done?_

“I had not been aware my students felt so strongly about this, but in the face of such overwhelming support, how could I possibly refuse?”

Everyone cheered, even Rose, though there was a hard spot of anger lurking near her heart. Clever of him, really, to play the kind and benevolent Headmaster, slightly dotty and out of touch. She knew there was a reason Harry had been so public – the Board of Governors had been putting pressure on him for literal _decades_ to reopen the Ritual Rooms, which he’d closed soon after becoming Headmaster. This way, Dumbledore kept the next generation seeing him in a positive light. It gave him more credit in Neutral circles, and if anyone from the Progressives questioned his decision, well, the entire school had been begging for it! What choice did he have?

But honestly, Rose admitted to herself that she couldn’t bring herself to care. Dumbledore wasn’t her priority – at least she trusted him to be well-meaning, unlike Voldemort. Once Voldemort was out of the picture, she might focus on Dumbledore. Maybe nudge Rita Skeeter towards publishing that biography before his death. That was all in the future, however – now, the Ritual Rooms were being reopened for the first time in decades. She looked over at the Slytherin table and saw that, for once, not many of them bothered to hide their smiles. The cheers from that direction were deafening. She caught Derrick’s eye and he angled his goblet subtly towards her.

This might not have been her scheme, but she’d been the ones to set the wheels in motion. She’d been the one who’d forced Hermione headfirst into cultural integration, no matter that she’d been entirely willing. She’d been the one who’d befriended first Theo, then Blaise and Daphne, then dragged them into the Badger Hole. Even though she hadn’t had a direct hand in this, she was positive Derrick was shrewd enough to see the shadow of her movements.

Because although Daphne hadn’t stood up there with them, her brand of writing had been _all over_ Harry and Hermione’s words. She had a gift at smoothing things over, phrasing things in the best way possible. She didn’t often use it, obviously, but the point was that she _could._ Blaise had a similar gift, though he wore it more openly. She wondered if they’d collaborated.

(they had)

(Rose had dragged them to the Badger Hole, their friends trailing, sat them down, and demanded an explanation)

(“Did you really expect anything else, after your show last Samhain?” Theo had asked rhetorically, grinning)

(she’d tackled them all into a hug afterwards. Between her and Harry, none of them could escape)

* * *

(she laughed along with the others as Ronald and Cormac McLaggen ran from the Great Hall, letting out fart sounds every few seconds, pretending not to notice the smug looks on the faces of Harry, Neville, and the Weasley twins)

* * *

Rose began wearing Macha to the Hogwarts Common Room. The Hufflepuffs in the study group, already used to this, ignored her, but she garnered considerably more wariness from the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws. She supposed that, had their group had more Slytherins than Blaise, Daphne, and Theo, the Slytherins would’ve been wary too, but as it was, all the Slytherins present were her friends and used to Macha.

(as it was, the Slytherins who _were_ present in the room gave her wide berths alongside their peers)

She was avoided the first time, empty space three feet in every direction, which her friends staunchly ignored. Hannah even scolded Terry Boot for shying away from her.

“I haven’t got anything against occamies!” he’d said defensively. “I’m just afraid of snakes!”

“Oh,” Hannah had blushed.

“Want to try some exposure therapy?” Rose had grinned. Terry had paled, but plucked up his courage. Everyone else was looking confused – ‘exposure therapy’ was a muggle term, after all.

By Samhain, Terry could sit beside her without flinching, though he was still very tense.

* * *

The Ritual Rooms were magnificent. There were many, large and small, some made of stone, some mimicking the grounds outside, complete with grass and trees. After all, some rituals preferred a natural environment, a connection to the earth, though Samhain wasn’t one of them.

Their ritual circle was larger than she’d ever seen it. There were twenty-seven, an auspicious number and the absolute maximum, and the large room was filled with other groups of twenty-seven or less. Rose could feel the magic emanating from the walls, could feel the subtle vibrations in the magic that told her others were conducting their own rituals all around them.

Harry led again. He was unequivocally the leader of their year.

(there was a distant stirring at the end of the ritual, like something had awoken from a long sleep)

The Ritual Rooms were near the Hogwarts Common Room, so afterwards they decided in silent agreement to head there. Rose was thinking dreamily of curling up in front of the enormous, blazing fire, when she noticed at everyone had come to a stop. She heard gasps, a muffled scream.

Dread building in her stomach, Rose pushed her way forward, and saw –

**_The Chamber of Secrets has been opened._ **

**_Enemies of the Heir, beware._ **

And, beneath the message, little Colin Creevey, holding a camera to his face, petrified.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Religious persecution is a sensitive subject, and I freely admit that I have no experience in that area. As a result, if part of this was insensitive or rude in any way, please, please, _please_ let me know. I don't have a beta or anyone else I can ask to read over my work beforehand, so I'm flying by the seat of my pants here. I did my best, but that doesn't preclude me from making mistakes, nor does it excuse them.


	20. Year 2, Part 7

It made sense that Colin had been petrified instead of Mrs Norris – she’d changed things, after all. But _she had changed things._ Why in the name of Merlin was the Chamber being opened?! They’d checked with Sirius, who’d confirmed that yes, he very much still had the diary. So, unless Ginny had slept with a replica for some reason, this was not the diary’s doing.

It couldn’t be horcrux in Harry – he’d reassured her that he wasn’t missing time.

It couldn’t be the diadem – they’d gone back to the Room to check.

It couldn't be the cup - Sirius had been complaining all summer about how the goblins had refused to nullify the betrothal contract in such a way as to retrieve the cup from Lestrange's vaults. 

It technically _could_ be the wraith – but why the _hell_ would he do that? He wasn’t even corporeal! Did he even have a mouth to speak Parseltongue with? And _why?_

Since Rose was absolutely positive it was neither her nor Harry, _who had opened the Chamber?_ And was it a coincidence that the message was exactly the same, or did someone somehow know? Only she and her brother knew the exact words, so unless a Voldemort-caliber legilimens had somehow slipped by their shields while they were thinking of those words, it was a coincidence. Nothing made any sense.

Rose had been half-convincing herself to go to the damn Chamber and set proximity wards before Harry had talked her out of it.

“No one’s died,” he’d reasoned. “And what if they already set up wards? You’d tip them off. Better to wait and see what they do next, and maybe watch everyone else for signs of possession.”

“Fine,” she’d agreed, biting her lip. She _did_ have a tendency to overthink and overplan, after all. It was good that Harry was there to reign her in, keep her from going too far.

* * *

The same sudden tension that existed between herself and Harry seemed to have carried over to the rest of the school. On the bright side, no one suspected them of opening the Chamber. There were about thirty witnesses who’d been with them for hours, after all, despite the fact that they could very well have done it all in advance and simply thrown up a timed glamour to cover it. On the downside, some seemed to take the reopening of the Ritual Rooms as a bad omen, and there was a sudden clamor of people who pushed for it to be closed. That the Slytherins were one of the greatest opponents to this was… unhelpful, to say the least. Harry had to give another speech berating the school before the shouts died down. There was just something _intoxicating_ about the way he spoke that was so utterly convincing.

Unfortunately, the resurgence in Slytherin prejudice was a much more difficult beast to battle. Never quite welcome in the Hogwarts Common Room to begin with, they began getting glared at and shifted away from. The Slytherins, subtle that they were, noticed and responded in kind. Rose watched this happen for two days before she figured out what to do about it.

* * *

“Hello,” Blaise greeted bemusedly.

“Hello!” Hermione waved. She smiled at him from her seat at the Slytherin table, and Rose held back a giggle.

“Morning,” Justin greeted sleepily.

“… Good morning,” Daphne said slowly. “Have you perhaps gotten lost?”

Rose beamed at her.

“I don’t think so,” she said thoughtfully, turning to Neville. “Nev? Are _you_ lost?”

“Nope,” he said cheerfully. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”

Blaise pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Sorry,” he gritted out. “But _why_ are all of you here?”

“Eating breakfast!” Rose chirped.

“We might also be protesting our House’s treatment of Slytherins,” Padma said mildly. “But if we were, I’m sure that’d be incidental.”

The Ravenclaws had been unexpected but welcome surprises. When Harry, Rose, and their friends marched into the Great Hall and sat down at the Slytherin table, Anthony had cocked his head in question.

“Not that I’m complaining, since it’s so much easier to talk like this,” he’d said. “But what exactly are you all doing at the Slytherin table?”

“We’re upset about how our Houses have been treating Slytherins like lepers,” Hermione had sniffed, serving herself a bowl of oatmeal. “So, we’re not sitting with them until they stop.”

Rose had scowled at her strawberries. “Did you know that ten Slytherins have been sent to the hospital wing in the past two days? _Ten!”_

“That’s awful,” Padma’d said, looking appalled. Then her eyes had hardened. “Move over, I’m going to join you.”

“Padma – “

“Either shut up or come with me, Anthony, it’s not right and you know it.”

In the present, Blaise and Daphne stared at her in disbelief, even as Theo shrugged and sat down with a slight grin.

“What?” he said. “We’ve got classes in forty-five minutes, and you can’t say this isn’t entertaining.”

“Glad to be of service,” Harry said dryly. Rose giggled and shuffled to the side, pulling Blaise into the seat she’d created.

“Sit down and let me tell you why the Goblin Rebellion of 1134 was completely unjustified,” she ordered. Blaise looked at her in outrage but sat, allowing her to drag him into an argument.

“It was _too_ justified – “

The Slytherins weren’t the only ones confused by this sudden change in seating plans. They were all used to _Rose_ sitting wherever she liked, but her friends were a different story. _There were_ muggleborns _sitting at the_ Slytherin _table,_ the rest of the school hissed, conveniently forgetting the muggleborns that already existed in Slytherin. No one was willing to confront them about it though, so the side eyeing remained, as did the prejudice.

* * *

“Is this going to be a permanent invasion?” Derrick asked them bemusedly a week later. The group had grown to include most of Rose’s yearmates, through a combination of Hermione and Padma’s impassioned speeches and implicit peer pressure. Cedric joined them more often than not, though he hadn’t arrived for breakfast yet.

“It will be until the school pulls their collective heads out of their arses,” Rose grinned. “Look on the bright side, Derrick.”

“I can’t,” he deadpanned. “Your big head’s blocking it.”

She laughed, even as Hermione shook her head in exasperation.

“You two are _so_ weird.”

(idly, she wondered how long it would take for someone to snap)

(her money was on either Ronald or McLaggen)

* * *

The Friday before the Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch game, Rose sent a merry wave towards the team from her spot at the Slytherin table.

“I’d wish you luck, Flint, but my brother’s Gryffindor’s seeker so I think I’m obligated to threaten you instead!”

Flint gave her a deadpan look. “That’s not nearly as reassuring as you seem to think it is, Potter.”

She flashed him a cheeky smile. In her peripheral vision, she saw Derrick snicker. They’d been wary of her after the Malfoy incident, but had slowly warmed back up to her once she’d made it clear that nothing had changed, and especially after the Ritual Rooms had reopened. They’d become far more willing to associate with her in public, anyways.

“Going to have your familiar drink his blood if he hurts your brother?” Blaise muttered.

Rose threw a piece of carrot at him, which he dodged easily.

“It’s Quidditch,” she said, as if that explained everything. Which, really, it kind of did – Quidditch was Quidditch. One did whatever one could to win; it wasn’t personal.

Next to her, Theo sighed.

“Can’t believe you’re a Quidditch nut,” he said disappointedly.

“I had no idea!” Daphne enthused. “What’s your Quidditch team?”

Rose eyed her suspiciously. “Holyhead Harpies. You?”

Daphne positively lit up. It was the most emotion Rose had ever seen from her. “Me too! Isn’t Gwenog Jones _incredible?”_

Rose nodded vigorously. “If Blaise’s mum won’t have me, I want to marry her.”

“Shut _up_ about my mum, Potter,” Blaise groaned.

She looked up at him through her eyelashes and pouted. “But she’s so much prettier than you, Blaise, I can’t help it.”

Blaise resolutely refused to look at her, stabbing a piece of broccoli violently with his fork. Theo cackled.

* * *

She pulled Harry aside after dinner.

“This is probably the rogue bludger game,” she told him. “So… be careful, yeah?”

Her memories had been getting increasingly blurry – she was quite sure that the bludger happened in this game, since she remembered being in the Hospital Wing when Creevey was brought in, but her changes had been multiplying. Creevey, after all, was already petrified, so who would be petrified this time? Would there even be a petrification?

There was a part of Rose that wanted to steal a rooster from somewhere, march into the Chamber of Secrets, and be done with it before anyone else got hurt – the reckless part with a ‘saving people thing.’ Then there was the other, more calculating part she’d been letting out more and more often, that told her that at least this way she knew where the threat was. The problem was that she didn’t know who or what it was – was it another horcrux? Was Voldemort possessing someone else? Rose didn’t have enough information to justify action. Harry agreed.

She dearly hoped they weren’t making a mistake.

* * *

(when Harry ended up in the hospital wing having to regrow all the bones in his right arm, Rose brought him a plate of treacle tart. He’d gotten awfully attached to Dobby, and Rose felt a prickle of sympathy. She would’ve liked the elf as well had he not added additional complications to her mess of a year)

(Sirius, fury in his eyes, scribbled off another letter to his lawyer about Lockhart)

* * *

It all came to a head the day Harry was released from the hospital wing. He walked in beside Rose and they headed for the Slytherin table, as normal, when she heard a disgusted sound from the other side of the Hall. Harry rounded on its maker, and only Rose saw the satisfaction gleaming in his eyes.

(they’d been waiting for someone to break)

“Something to say, McLaggen?” he asked. McLaggen stared back incredulously.

“Yeah,” he said. “I want to know why you’ve abandoned your own House to sit with the people who landed you in the hospital wing.”

Up at the High Table, she saw McGonagall watch impassively, and felt a surge of fury. She never stepped in, did she? Not when it was the _Slytherins_ being attacked.

“Maybe,” Rose cut in icily, “he thinks that a group of people known for their subtlety wouldn’t do anything so obvious as write messages in blood on the walls or curse a bludger at a game attended by the entire school.”

“Just because they’re _meant_ to be subtle doesn’t mean they _are,”_ McLaggen argued.

“We’re all _children,_ McLaggen!” Harry exclaimed. “You really think even a seventh-year would be able to do magic so powerful even _Dumbledore_ can’t reverse it?” His voice dripped with disdain, and Rose saw several of McLaggen’s yearmates cast him dubious glances.

“They’re Slytherins,” McLaggen said mutinously, though it was clear he hadn’t thought of that. “Wouldn’t put it past them.”

“Really,” Harry said flatly. He turned to her in a clear gesture of dismissal. “C’mon, Rosie, let’s go.”

Rose looked around, hiding her pleasure that the confrontation had been witnessed by so many. Percy Weasley was looking guilty, Jasmine Gallagher thoughtful, and Beatrice Haywood was eyeing her fellow Hufflepuffs at the Slytherin table in a contemplative way that made Rose want to cackle. Perhaps this would help the Hogwarts population think for themselves.

* * *

“Didn’t know you spent time with stupid half-blood sluts, Rookwood.”

Rose glanced up surreptitiously. The boy, an upper year Slytherin, was sneering at Rookwood. He was tall, with brown hair and eyes, and would’ve been handsome if he hadn’t looked so disgusted by her presence. They were in the library, Rose sitting in flagrant disregard of Prefect Melton’s most recent warning.

(“He wants to be an _Unspeakable,_ Potter,” Melton hissed through gritted teeth. “I’ve seen you two in the library, what exactly do you think you’re doing?”

“So he wants to do research, that’s hardly _evil_ – “

“Don’t be purposefully obtuse, Potter, haven’t you considered that he might be the one opening the Chamber?”

“He’s _sixteen,_ I highly doubt – “)

“We’re both in Ancient Runes, Rosier, not that you’d know.” Rookwood’s voice was cold, colder than he’d ever been even to her.

Hmm… Rosier? He must be Malcom Rosier, sixth year, hardcore blood purist if she was reading him correctly. How to handle this…

(“I’m not going to abandon him, Melton.”)

 _Naïve little girl it is_ , Rose decided.

“What’s a slut?”

Both boys stared at her. Rosier looked taken aback. She looked up at him, tilting her head in a way that made her green eyes glimmer. For all the Rosier was a prejudiced blood purist, she could still silence him with a flash of her best innocent-little-girl pose.

“It’s alright if you don’t know,” Rose assured him. She beamed. “I’ll ask Professor Sprout and she can tell us! She’s very nice, you know, she won’t mind!”

Rosier seemed to pull himself together. “Listen, Potter, I don’t know who you think you are – “

“I think you know exactly who I am,” she said coldly, dropping her mask. It clearly wasn’t working. “All of Slytherin ought to know who I am, _unlesss they’ve_ _forgotten_.”

At the creep of Parseltongue, Rosier paled.

(“He hasn’t known his father since he was five.”)

 _“Don’t call me a sslut again, Rosier.”_ Her voice, high, cold, with a hiss of Parseltongue, was how she remembered Voldemort speaking to his Death Eaters. From the look on Rosier’s face, he’d understood the implication.

Rose switched back to the innocent-little-girl and positively beamed at him. “Nice talk, Rosier! Goodbye!”

“I think you made him piss himself,” Rookwood observed idly, watching him go.

“Oh?” Rose said airily. “I _did_ think his stench had improved.”

Rookwood grinned at her. “What’d you say was the reason for the stroke order of ‘feng’?”

(they were not their parents)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, 470 kudos?! You guys are incredible, thank you so much <3


	21. Year 2, Part 8

Rose had just barely been able to stop herself from swearing when she saw the new piece of parchment stuck to the notice board in the entrance hall. Susan picked up on her dread.

“Don’t like dueling?”

“Afraid Lockhart’ll be there,” Rose said gloomily.

Justin shot her a look. “Don’t say that, you’ll jinx it.”

“Jinx what?” Ernie asked, looking confused. His expression had barely cleared after she and Justin had finished their explanation of the muggle saying.

“Muggles are _weird,”_ he’d muttered.

“Like magicals are any better,” Justin shot back. “’Merlin’s baggy Y-fronts’, really?”

* * *

(the look on Justin’s face when he saw Lockhart had been absolutely murderous)

* * *

The Hufflepuffs’ feelings toward Professor Snape were… negative, to say the least. They disapproved of his sink-or-swim style of teaching, and frequently complained to Professor Sprout about the strain the dim light put on their eyes. It had been a Hufflepuff who’d gotten the vents updated a few years ago, installing a series of new air purifiers enchanted to last twice as long and work twice as quickly as the older model. Prefect Melton was even now campaigning for larger writing.

Nonetheless, they applauded with the others when Snape smashed Lockhart into the wall with an _expelliarmus_. Rose heard several upper years muffle noises of disappointment when Lockhart stood back up.

“What a tragedy it would be,” Justin sighed. “If a spell were to accidentally hit him and put him in Saint Mungo’s.”

Stephen Cornfoot grinned. “I sure hope you haven’t _jinxed_ it, Justin.”

Justin shot Rose a pointed look, which she wrinkled her nose at. “Rose seems to be the best at _jinxing,_ if you ask me.”

“I’ll show you just how good at jinxing I am, Finch-Fletchley,” Rose growled in mock-anger.

“Oooh,” several people chorused.

Rose only smiled.

(she gave Justin the same smile ten minutes later as he doubled over from a _rictusempra)_

(her memory of the event was fuzzy at best, but she thought her friends had come out of it significantly better – she had a vague impression of Hermione and Millicent brawling, but in this life Hermione only shot Bulstrode a triumphant smirk over the other girl’s boil-covered body. Neville grinned at Harry, who grinned back. Susan and Hannah were giggling over Hannah’s new brilliantly blue hair)

“Dear, dear,” Lockhart said, skittering through the crowd. “Careful there, Miss Fawcett… Off to the hospital wing with you, Mr. Carpenter… Up you go, Wilkerson…”

“I think I’d better teach you how to block unfriendly spells,” Lockhart said. He made to call over Justin and Neville, but –

“A bad idea, Professor Lockhart,” Snape said. Rose got a sudden feeling of foreboding – hadn’t she been revealed as a Parselmouth here? Her heart sank further when Harry and Malfoy were called up to duel. She pushed her way in front of Justin – _that_ she remembered. Harry knew he was a Parselmouth in this life, but Fate had an odd idea of what constituted fixed events, she’d learned. Or maybe it was just fucking with her; Rose didn’t particularly care. At least Harry was more prepared than she’d been.

Snape whispered something into Malfoy’s ear. Rose wished she’d thought to bring Macha.

“Three – two – one – go!”

 _“Serpensortia!”_ Malfoy yelled. But he wasn’t pointing his wand at Harry –

Rose screamed and threw up an instinctive _protego_ just before an enormous black snake, seven feet long, slammed into it and fell to the ground. People backed away from her, running, stumbling, the air was filled with screams –

The snake slammed into her shield again – she couldn’t drop the shield or it’d get to her, but the shield was going to drop soon anyway, it was a fifth year spell, and the snake was so _heavy_ –

 _$Stop!$_ Harry yelled. _$Get away from her!$_

The snake slumped to the floor. The hall had gone silent. Rose, cursing herself, knew she needed to –

“Thanks, Hare-bear!” she called, giggling. “Silly of me to forget, but this means I can talk to Macha in the open now, doesn’t it?”

Harry gave her an exasperated look, but it couldn’t conceal the relief in his face. “You’re an idiot, Rosie. Who forgets they can speak to snakes?”

“Don’t be mean,” she pouted. She glanced at the silent, frozen crowd as if just realizing they were there.

“Is it really a surprise?” she asked curiously, tilting her head. “The Potters are from India, you know, that place is littered with Parselmouths.”

She heard a slight laugh, and Padma Patil spoke up. “That’s true enough! Our great-uncle’s a Parselmouth, isn’t he, Parvati?”

Parvati gave a nervous smile, playing along. “I think so! Got a pet snake too, nothing as cool as an occamy though.”

Slowly, the tone of the crowd changed from scared to wary.

“Ignore them,” Susan told her firmly, putting an arm around her. “It’s just a language.”

“Yeah,” Justin added. He was pale but determined. “Like – like talking to toads or something.”

“I’d like to talk to toads,” Neville sighed wistfully. “Must be dead useful to talk with Macha, Rose.”

Rose laughed, giddy with relief. “It is! It’s funny you mention Trevor, you know she calls you ‘toad boy’?”

Neville looked like he didn’t know whether to be offended or amused.

“Does she call me anything?” Justin asked eagerly.

“’Loud boy’,” she grinned. Justin made a face.

“I’m not _that_ loud, am I?”

He looked with increasing desperation at them as they stayed silent.

“Am I???”

* * *

They did what they could to mitigate the damage, but Harry was _furious._

“He aimed for _you,”_ Harry snarled. “And got _three detentions_ for it, I’m going to _kill him – “_

“Duel him,” Rose suggested quietly. “Humiliate him.”

“Make him pay,” Harry said, giving a truly terrifying grin.

* * *

 _$Open$,_ Harry hissed. They stepped into the common room. Rose hung back, letting Harry take the lead.

 _$Bring me Draco Malfoy$,_ Harry ordered. They weren’t sure how the magic of the common room worked, but maybe –

A startled shriek and a series of thumps cut off her train of thought. An _enormous_ stone snake slithered into the common room from one of the doors. It held Draco Malfoy in its jaws. He was struggling, but it was obviously futile. He couldn’t even reach the ground.

The Slytherins watched – Rose supposed the smarter ones had known something like this would happen, considering how Rose had reacted to her mother being called a mudblood, and the stupider ones were staying silent to avoid getting dragged into this. The snake deposited Malfoy at Harry’s feet. Malfoy scrambled upright, but it was clear he was trembling.

“I challenge you to a duel, Draco Malfoy,” Harry said coldly. It was odd – Harry normally raised his voice when he was angry. _She_ was the one who went icy and still. “Here and now. As a son of the Noble and Ancient House of Potter and blood-adopted son of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, I challenge you to a _pugna vindictae._ ”

A revenge duel; it had fallen into disuse centuries ago, but –

The Bloody Baron rose from the center of the room. There was a clear space around Harry and Malfoy.

“A revenge duel?” He murmured. “I haven’t seen one of these in a long time.”

“He set a Lotharian viper on my sister,” Harry said, voice hard with anger. “Their poison kills in less than two seconds.”

“Your sister…?” The Baron seemed to finally recognize Harry. When he caught sight of Rose, standing behind him, his already translucent face lightened.

“You can’t say he doesn’t deserve it,” Rose said. She hadn’t interacted with ghosts at all in this life, and wasn’t that a little odd? Had they been avoiding her?

“I suppose not,” The Baron said, his voice a fraction weaker than it had been. Oh, he was _absolutely_ scared of her, and judging by the horrified awe being sent her way, she wasn’t the only one who’d noticed.

Harry grinned at Malfoy. “Well? What do you say, Malfoy? How about we have a _proper_ duel?”

Malfoy, to his credit, straightened. He attempted a sneer. “Fine.”

There was a shimmer around them as The Baron, presumably, somehow activated the dueling wards. Rose was going to give Grandmother Euphemia whatever she wanted – let the Slytherins wonder how they’d gotten around the secrecy wards, all Granny Euphie had had to do was be Confunded into _believing_ they were fellow Slytherins.

“It’ll throw everyone else off-guard,” Euphemia had said gleefully after the _confundo_ had worn off. “It was rare even in _my_ time, and they’ll be too busy wondering how you knew that you can strike while they’re distracted.”

“Twelve paces,” The Baron intoned. “Ready your wands and bow.”

They did, albeit mockingly.

 _“Ossio conminuo,”_ Harry snarled out immediately. It hit before Malfoy had time to dodge, and everyone heard Malfoy’s scream as his ulnar shattered. Harry watched coldly as Malfoy struggled to stay standing from the pain.

“Pitiful,” he said boredly. “Merlin. Here. _Brackium emendo.”_ He gave a sharp twirl of his wand, ending in a jab. Malfoy’s sobs ebbed as Harry healed him.

“Cast a spell, Malfoy,” Harry sneered. “I thought you were better than this.”

That taunt seemed to reach him. Malfoy flung a series of spells at Harry, all of which her brother avoided neatly. Rose was impressed to the point of unease. She didn’t know where Harry had learned the bone-shattering curse, or the bone-repairing spell, and the dexterity with which he dodged was one she hadn’t seen before. Had Harry been _training_ for this kind of thing? At Hogwarts? Because he was far better than he’d been over the summer.

They all watched, wide-eyed, as Harry began a barrage of spells in Malfoy’s direction. The other boy threw up the strongest shield he knew – and it was an _impressive_ shield, at that, a _protego duro_ – but Harry overwhelmed it with sheer power. She’d never seen anyone cast so quickly – Harry’s wand was nothing more than a blur. 

Malfoy’s shield broke and an _expelliarmus_ sent his wand spinning out of his hand. An additional _flipendo_ and he was thrown into the air, falling a dozen feet away with a _crack._

“Oops,” Harry said, not sounding sorry at all. “I haven’t killed him, have I?”

He was facing away from her, though the way people flinched away from him told her enough. The Baron floated over.

“No,” he said curtly. “Only unconscious. Victory goes to Potter.” 

“Pity,” Harry said dispassionately. The wards shimmered as they fell, doing their best to repair the damage Harry had done. The Baron disappeared. The scorch marks on the carpets healed, and Malfoy gave a low groan.

“Don’t attack my sister again, Malfoy,” Harry said quietly. He turned to her; with the fireplace behind him, his eyes practically glowed. Or perhaps that was just residual power; she wasn’t sure. “Ready to go?”

Rose tilted her head. “One moment.” Several people flinched when she raised her wand, and she gave a little smirk as she changed Malfoy’s hair into a lurid pink.

“How uncreative,” Harry said dryly.

Rose shrugged and sent him a beaming smile. “I enjoy the simple things in life.” She fell into step beside him as he passed. “That was fun!”

“I’m glad I entertained you.”

“You ought to be, you – “ Rose stopped talking as soon as the wall slid closed beside her. Harry sent her a warning look, so Rose waited until he’d pulled her into an abandoned classroom and sent several locking and privacy spells towards the door.

“Where did you learn that?” She blurted out. “And how - ?”

“I’ve been training in the Room of Requirement,” Harry said.

“What for?”

He gave her a derisive look. “For something like this, obviously.”

She stared at him. “That’s not like you.”

A sneer. “And when did _you_ become an expert on what _I_ do?”

Rose faltered. That hurt. “I just… you were acting strangely. You’re not usually so cold.” _Or cruel,_ she added silently. _Or agile._

“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do,” Harry said. She flinched, hurt because it was true. Harry had always been so affable, so cheerful, but today he’d shattered Malfoy’s bones with a smile on his face. She’d seen hints of his ruthlessness before – his lack of reaction to her… handling… of Malfoy had spoken volumes – but she’d never seen it in person before, and it scared her how little she knew her own brother. She’d be a hypocrite if she was afraid of what he’d actually _done –_ on the contrary, she quite approved. Had she not thought a duel preferable to what she’d done? But she’d need to pay closer attention to her brother after this. After all, how well did she know him, really?

“You don’t need to worry,” Harry said, voice softening. “I know it must be scary, but just trust me, alright? I promise I’m fine.”

“I… okay,” Rose said reluctantly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy smokes, over 510 kudos?! You guys are insane!  
> Also, I realize that I wasn't very clear about my current update schedule. Basically, I have a bunch of chapters written in advance, acting as a buffer. Every time I finish a new chapter, I'll post one of my buffer chapters. So for example, I finished chapter 57, so I posted this chapter (21). I hope that makes more sense, and sorry about the confusion!   
> TL;DR: expect a chapter a few times a week, since that's what my current writing schedule looks like


	22. Year 2, Part 9

Thanks to a prospective Healer among the Slytherin upper years, Malfoy never had to go to the Hospital Wing. He didn’t bother anyone anymore either, which she supposed was an improvement.

The fallout from the Parseltongue reveal was much more dramatic. Most of the students in the lower three years had spoken to Harry on some level and knew better than to believe the rumours that he was the heir of Slytherin. Sure, he was a Parselmouth and brought back the Ritual Rooms, but so had his muggleborn friend! Those who were part of the study group closed ranks around him, glaring fiercely at anyone who looked at him the wrong way.

Rose’s situation was similar. She suspected many Slytherins, who’d seen her and Harry’s darker sides, had their suspicions, but they were clever enough to keep them quiet. Everyone else took one look at her perpetually beaming face and Hufflepuff tie, sometimes glancing at the crowd of Hufflepuffs looming menacingly behind her, and kept their mouths shut.

(it was the first time Hufflepuff House had ever rallied around her. It made her feel… warm)

(what would it have been like, to be a Hufflepuff the first time around?)

Things weren’t nearly as bad as they had been in her past life – here, she and Harry had loyal groups of friends. They were well-liked amongst their yearmates and hadn’t isolated themselves with two friends like she’d done before. There was no anger from Hufflepuff House – Ernie, whom she’d overheard warning others away from her in her past life, stood resolutely beside her in this one. She was his friend, she was a good person, and he was ready and willing to fight people off with force. The prejudice wasn’t gone, but she and Harry were exceptions.

(he’d doubted her once before, after all. He wasn’t going to doubt her again)

It was nice, having people on her side.

(it was also nice to finally be able to tell people what an absolute narcissist Macha was – none of her friends were able to say the word ‘magnificent’ without giggling)

Professor Sprout had even stood up during dinner and declared that anyone who thought either she or Harry were the Heirs of Slytherin needed to get their heads looked at, because clearly, they didn’t know them at all.

“I know both Mr and Miss Potter personally,” she said. “And I’ll have all of you know that I am a very good judge of character.”

Her little speech had driven Flitwick into doing the same – he was overseeing the formation of the defence club, after all, and had worked with Harry quite closely. McGonagall had done the same, after that, and though Snape conspicuously did not, his dislike of Harry was well-known at this point, so those students with two brain cells to rub together didn’t put any weight on that.

(but it stung to know that even the Professors had doubted her in her last life)

(things weren't perfect - of course not. Ronald and McLaggen and a great deal of others still cast them sideways, suspicious glances, and there'd been murmurings of getting them suspended 'for the good of the school,' but Hannah had snarled and Ernie had glared and Hermione had pulled out the rulebook and the murmurings had faded into the shadows)

(they were still there, but with her friends at her side, it was easy to pretend that they weren't)

* * *

“They’re kind of beautiful, aren’t they?” Luna said absently.

“They are,” Rose agreed quietly. She reached out and the thestral allowed her to run her hand along its bony side. Snow crunched beneath her boots, but the leather was spelled to the gills and so her feet stayed warm. The same could not be said for her hands – the warming charm was wearing off, but one hand was holding out a dripping hunk of meat and the other was petting a thestral.

She hadn’t been particularly fond of them in her last life – they’d been a reminder of Cedric’s death, and she’d resented them for it. In this one, they simply were. They seemed to sense her closeness with Death, as the ghosts had, and Rose was no longer surprised by the feeling of a cold, bony nose nudging affectionately at her back or neck.

(their teeth were still awfully sharp though, so she always moved her neck out of their reach)

They had a quiet peacefulness to them that she envied. Their large, dark eyes looked at her like they knew her and accepted her despite everything she’d done.

(Quirrell crumbling at her touch)

_(kill the spare)_

_(I KILLED SIRIUS BLACK)_

Rose was grateful Luna hadn’t commented on her odd affinity for the thestrals. It was calming, to simply spend time with another person in companionable silence. No schemes, no attacks, nothing to worry about but whether or not she’d have enough meat to satisfy the thestrals.

It was snowing again. Rose paused in her petting to pull up the hood of her cloak. Her dark red hair, spilling out in a sheet, was a lost cause, already getting dusted with tiny snowflakes. In a sudden fit of whimsy, she stuck out her tongue and caught a few. She heard Luna giggle before copying her.

The thestral she’d been petting nudged mournfully at her hand. Rose smiled and resumed, watching tenderly as the animal leaned into her touch. It wasn’t their fault they were associated with death; they were shy and gentle, and she loved them.

* * *

Rose had always loved Hogwarts in winter. The Potions classroom was freezing, but only because the heavy enchantments blanketing the rest of the castle would interfere with the brewing process. The rest of the castle was pleasantly warm. It wasn’t surprising to see students practically hugging the walls afterwards – the temperature-activated enchantments had the stone radiating heat.

All common rooms became littered with self-heating blankets, cushions, and rugs; mugs of hot chocolate had become a permanent fixture in the Great Hall. She’d nearly cried when her Slytherin friends, who had a free period, met her outside the Potions classroom with an armful of blankets and a few mugs of hot chocolate floating behind them. She hadn’t believed Blaise’s muttered _we want to help combat Slytherin prejudice too, you know,_ but pretended she had. Rose had noticed the concerned looks they’d given her, curling up in front of the fire in the Hogwarts Common Room and clutching a warm cushion after stumbling back, shivering, from Potions.

(Blaise could mother hen as well as Mrs. Weasley when he wanted to)

In Charms, Professor Flitwick taught them how to charm everlasting snow. Rose had squealed when she’d crawled into bed only to find handfuls of snow and had hexed Harry purple the next morning.

* * *

“Right,” Harry said. He stood on a raised dais at the front of the room, Susan and Neville flanking him. Defence club was being held on Saturday mornings to make sure that the people who went were truly committed. As a result, about half the year group and a smattering of first and third years filled the large defence classroom Professor Flitwick had repurposed. The professor himself was standing off to the side to supervise.

“I’d like to thank everyone for coming – I know there’s a great many other things you could be doing this morning, and you chose to come here. We’re here because, for all that Hogwarts is one of the best schools of magic in the world, the defence instruction is inconsistent at best and nonexistent at worst.”

Several people nodded fervently in agreement. Lockhart had been ‘teaching’ long enough for even his most fervent supporters to admit that he wasn’t cut out for the profession.

“Professor Flitwick, three-time champion of the International Advanced Dueler’s League, and Amelia Bones, Susan’s aunt and head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, have recommended that we use the book _A Beginner’s Guide to Defence Against the Dark Arts_ by _Atonia MacMillan_ as a reference. All the spells we’ll be covering can be found there, if you wanted to do some extra reading.”

Harry grinned and caught the eyes of Hermione, Mandy Brocklehurst, and Lisa Turpin.

“How this is going to work is that one of us,” Harry gestured to the three of them, “is going to demonstrate a spell and explain how to use it. Then, we’ll all practice on the dummies on your right. Professor Flitwick dug them out of storage for us – they’re pretty cool! They glow to show you where you’ve hit and recognize a few basic spells. It’s fairly straightforward, I think. Any questions?” Harry cocked his head and paused for a beat before continuing.

“No? Alright. At the first and only meeting of the Dueling Club,” there were several laughs at this, “Professor Snape demonstrated the disarming spell. Its incantation is ex-PELL-i-AR-mus, and its wand movement like so.” He gave a forward jab. “If you cast it correctly, the dummy will turn green. They’ve already been calibrated for the spell.”

 _“Expelliarmus,”_ Harry said. A jet of red light struck the dummy on the platform. A green circle of light glowed in the center of the dummy’s chest.

“With the disarming spell, the closer to the heart you get, the more effective it’ll be. I could clip the dummy on its arm like this,” Harry said, doing so. A yellow oval glowed on the dummy’s arm. “The yellow means the spell was less effective, and if you get red or no colour at all, the spell didn’t work. Susan, Neville, and I will walk around helping people.”

Rose had learned (or re-learned) the spell over a year ago, so instead she worked on her aim. There was a function to have the dummies move and dodge within a three- by three-foot square, so she levitated it off to the side. Her aim was getting better – the first time she’d tried this a week ago, her spells had always landed on the arms or missed. Now, she could reliably hit the dummy on the chest.

There were giggles and yelps as some students missed and hit someone else’s dummy. There was a general air of light-heartedness, which she far preferred to the grim atmosphere the DA had had more often than not. Here, they weren’t training for anything, just learning.

It was nice.

* * *

Cedric raised an eyebrow when a crowd of Hufflepuff second years returned to the common room an hour later, sweaty but smiling.

“Everything alright?” he asked, looking up from his essay.

“Absolutely spiffing, old chap,” Ernie assured him. Rose still wasn’t sure if he spoke like that on purpose or not. “Potter – Harry Potter, that is – started up a defence study club.”

“He’s a really good teacher,” Hannah said earnestly. “He and Neville and Susan.”

Susan blushed. “We’ll, we’ve been preparing for months, haven’t we? Us and Professor Flitwick. Be a bit embarrassing if we weren’t.”

“Defence club?” Cedric asked. “Was it useful?”

“We learned _expelliarmus_ properly,” Justin grinned.

Beside Cedric, Joshua Wilkerson and Heidi Marks looked up in interest.

“Really?” Marks said. “Our defence professors have been awful recently – our OWLs are next year and it looks like it’ll have to all be self study.”

“D’you know if Potter’s allowing new members?” Wilkerson asked.

Everyone looked at Susan.

“Oh – I think so? I mean, it’s a club, isn’t it? It’s not invitation-only or anything.”

“It’s every Saturday morning,” Rose added. “If we meet in the common room at 7:45, we can go together.”

“Brilliant,” Cedric grinned. “See you then, I suppose.”

Justin glanced at Susan. “I hope you, Potter, and Longbottom have plans for when there are more people than dummies.”

“We do,” Susan said, chewing on her lip. “We just didn’t expect to need them. Do you think there’ll be many more people at the next meeting?”

“News travels fast in Hogwarts,” Rose said diplomatically. “And you three _are_ good teachers.”

“You’ll help if there’re too many people, won’t you?” Susan asked nervously. “I know you said you were busy, but – “

“Of course I’ll help,” Rose said firmly. 

* * *

“Explain to me your understanding of the Pepperup Potion.”

“The Pepperup Potion treats the common cold, a viral infection of the upper respiratory tract. It raises the internal body temperature to a point where the viral proteins can no longer survive and denature, causing steam to come out of the nose, ears, and mouth as a result. It’s also used to treat patients with mild hypothermia, though is not recommended for anything more severe than that as the sudden change in body temperature causes adverse reactions in a hypothermic body,” Rose said, reciting all she could remember. Her meetings with Madam Pomphrey had continued this year – she felt the matron rather enjoyed them.

“Adequate, Miss Potter,” Madam Pomphrey said. “Next week, I want you to bring me a cauldronful of Pepperup. You’re top of your class in Potions, it oughtn’t be difficult.”

Rose scrunched up her nose a little in confusion. “I thought Professor Snape – “

“Every Healer worth their license ought to be able to whip up a Pepperup Potion,” Madam Pomphrey said sternly. “The thing has a shelf life of three days, I know for a fact that all of Saint Mungo’s branch clinics have a perpetual shortage, especially during this time of year.”

Rose quailed under Madam Pomphrey’s look, though a part of her gazed up in admiration and hoped that she, too, could one day be so terrifying.

“Yes, Madam Pomphrey. Thank you so much for teaching me – I’ll see you next week!”

Rose didn’t know if she wanted to be a Healer, but she couldn’t deny that healing was fascinating. Even casual conversations with Madam Pomphrey revealed loads of information – for example, the knowledge that there existed clinics where wixen could go to to get physical ailments treated. She’d wondered ever since fifth year in her past life, since Saint Mungo’s seemed to specialize in magical problems like spell damage or potions accidents. Before, she’d assumed that wixen just fixed themselves up, but now she knew better. Not every wix was able to cast charms like _ferula_ or _episkey,_ so Saint Mungos set up branch clinics. Like Muggle Britian, care was free of charge, paid for through taxes and donations.

Madam Pomphrey telling her to brew Pepperup gave her an idea – something she really ought to have thought of before. Rose hurried to the dungeons where the student practice labs were, digging through her bag for her Potions textbook. She walked quickly down the cold hallway, shoes nearly silent on the stone floor, before finding an empty lab. Rose wrote her name on the sign-up sheet neatly, booking it for the next three hours, before closing the door. She pulled her cauldron out of an expanded pocket of her satchel and set out her potions kit. If there were any ingredients she didn’t have, she could sign out a number of common and moderately rare ingredients as long as she wrote which potion she needed it for.

She set her textbook on the counter, looking through her bag for – yes! She pulled out what appeared to be coarse Muggle sticky notes. She’d found them in a stationary shop called Quills & Waterstones in Horizont Alley, which was filled with all sorts of magic-adapted muggle things. Rose flipped through the book, adding a sticky note whenever she came across a useful potion.

People had begun to outnumber the dummies at the most recent defence club meeting, so they’d had to switch from _stupefy_ to _flipendo._ There’d still been quite a few bruises from overpowered spells though, so Rose stuck a note on the page with a recipe for Bruise Balm. Perhaps some Wiggenweld as well – it was a sixth year potion but only due to its complexity. She’d brewed it over the summer with Remus, so she ought to be fine here on her own. Besides, there was sure to be loads of odd cuts and aches from the Defence club. She’d just ask Madam Pomphrey to look over them along with her Pepperup. 

There were a number of potions it’d be useful to have on-hand though – if she’d had Blood Replenisher with her when Quirrellmort had tried to kill Harry, he might not’ve been so close to death. Wound Cleaning Potion too – it didn’t make sense to have one without the other, unless the bleeding was internal. Perhaps Invigoration Draft? She never had it on hand when she needed it. It took three hours to brew and was OWL level though, however, and she’d only signed up for three hours…

Rose stepped outside to put her name down for an additional five hours, satisfaction thrumming through her veins. She was doing something, creating something tangible, that would help her in the future. It was heady, and though Rose wasn’t a Seer, she foresaw a lot of brewing in her future. Perhaps she’d rope Hermione and Harry to help her. Hermione had brewed a NEWT-level potion at twelve in a bathroom – surely she could handle OWL-level potions in a lab.

* * *

Then, a week before Yule break, Parvati Patil and Nearly-Headless Nick were petrified.


	23. Year 2, Part 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are amazing. Thank you so much to everyone to reads, comments, bookmarks, and leaves kudos. Shout out to Locko, horux, Shadow777997, and BootleggerBea for leaving such thoughtful, helpful comments! Not to say that the rest of you commenters, especially the recurring ones, aren't appreciated, because you are, and I adore all of you. Thank you all very much <3

In the wake of the double petrification, Padma was a mess. She’d been sent home after having a breakdown in the Hogwarts Common Room, the place reminding her too much of her sister. Their twin bond, Rose had observed, was more physical – Padma would freeze at odd moments and her movements were jerky. Several near-fatal Potions accidents had immediately preceded her being sent home.

Prefects had begun escorting them to and from class, allowing only a few hours in the Hogwarts Common Room and library. She and Harry had been forced to plot via mirror and hadn’t been able to sneak out at all. Their House prefects were always on the alert for students sneaking off, so Notice-Me-Nots were off the table, and her magic wasn’t yet refined enough to manage as Disillusionment.

Of course, that was nothing compared to the change in the school’s atmosphere. Padma was a pureblood, and now that she’d been petrified, it meant that Slytherin’s monster was no longer discriminating. It did a great deal to absolve the Slytherins of suspicion, though. For once, their reputation of being blood supremacists worked in their favor.

As for Malfoy, he’d been looking awfully pale since the duel, Rose noticed. He hadn’t gone back to his taunts at all, and Parkinson seemed to have abandoned him completely, integrating herself instead with Tracey Davis and Emma Vane. He wasn’t even going home for the winter holidays, Theo told her. Usually, he begged every year to be allowed to attend the annual Malfoy Gala over Yule, and every year was rebuffed. Rose didn’t know why he’d ever bothered – like the Wizengamot, wixen weren’t allowed to attend anything formal until they’d turned thirteen. It was a concession to the family magicks, who only accepted or rejected a wix on their thirteenth birthday. It usually wasn’t spoken of or acknowledged in polite society, but the accompanying appearance change meant that photographing those under thirteen was illegal.

Harry and Rose convinced Sirius and Remus to let them stay at Hogwarts for Yule so they could look for the culprit and search the rooms of the ones who’d stayed. Sirius and Remus had agreed reluctantly; Remus would destroy the two horcruxes they had over a mirror call, so they could watch. As the only second year Hufflepuff who’d be staying at school, Rose had managed to convince the professors to allow her to move temporarily into Gryffindor tower.

“They’d rather us stay at Hogwarts with the professors,” Rose had lied. “In case something happens on the train or platform. But I don’t… I don’t want to be alone,” she’d said quietly, as if admitting to something shameful, looking up through her eyelashes. Professor Sprout had softened instantly.

“Of course you don’t, Miss Potter. I’ll speak with Professor McGonagall, to see if you might stay in Gryffindor Tower.”

And so it was that Rose’s things ended up transported temporarily into the first year Gryffindor girl’s dorm. Hermione had gone home so the second year’s dorm was empty, but this way Ginny wouldn’t have to be alone either.

* * *

The first-year girls’ dorm was considerably smaller than the second-year one. When she thought about it, Rose wasn’t surprised – they’d been born during the height of the war, after all. The year below hers was apparently one of the smallest Hogwarts had seen in decades. It hadn’t even gotten that bad during the war with Grindelwald, who’d mostly stayed on the continent.

As it was, there were only three Gryffindor girls, including Ginny, so Rose’s Hufflepuff bed was fitted easily in a space next to the window. Rose pushed down the part of herself that always sought to be closest to exits – she hadn’t even _lived_ with the Dursleys in this life, why on earth had these instincts followed her? – and set about chatting with Ginny. Rose hadn’t talked with the first years much outside of Luna, not even in Hufflepuff. She made a mental note to remedy that – she didn’t want to confine her influence to her year alone. Harry, the sociable git, hadn’t had a problem, of course.

In her first life, Rose had never really gotten on with the girls in her dorm. She’d looked down at Lavender, Parvati, and Fay as they’d gossiped about beauty charms and who liked whom, thinking herself better than them. As they’d grown older and more mature, the other three had remembered Rose’s initial slight, and relations between them had been slightly chilly ever since.

Now, though, after spending hours with Andromeda teaching her beauty charms, giving her advice on how to wear her hair, choosing robes with colours that’d flatter her, Rose empathized with them. Gossiping was _fun._ Beauty charms, braiding each other’s hair – that was also fun. She and Ginny had a grand old time fulfilling muggle stereotypes as they brushed and braided and gossiped and Rose taught her the charms Andromeda had once taught _her._ The morning after break had begun, they yawned and giggled their way through breakfast. Rose loved Susan, but she was as no-nonsense as her Aunt Amelia, and Hannah had always been more Susan’s friend than hers and lived in a different dorm. With Ginny, Rose could embrace that girlish side of herself, and she reveled in it.

(“Merlin, I wish I had your hair colour, auburn’s so much prettier than ginger.”

“Are you joking? Ginny, you practically _glow_ in the sun, why would you want to give that up?”

“… Do I really?”

“Yes, of course! It’s absolutely gorgeous, Ginny, I love your hair.”)

* * *

The night before Yule, Harry and Rose asked Hagrid for an oak log. It burned in the sunset, fire flaring as she and Harry spoke their prayers. They exchanged holly necklaces afterwards – it was an old tradition they hadn’t followed before, but they felt they needed the protection this year. Besides, they both missed the holly bushes and witchlight sun. Hogwarts celebrated Christmas, so the evergreen trees and fairies were there, but their presence sat differently knowing that they weren’t for _them._ They were Christmas trees, not Yule trees, and that tiny distinction made all the difference.

Ginny had asked to watch the ceremony, ignoring Ronald’s glares and muttered accusations of her turning Dark. She watched as Rose braided bells into her hair and charmed a crown of snowflakes unmeltable, listened as Harry and Rose said their sunset prayer and counted their blessings. She was especially interested in the magic of it.

“Something like this couldn’t possibly be Dark,” Ginny had murmured, eyes soft with awe as she gazed at the smoldering log. “That was beautiful.”

They walked back to the castle together as the sun descended the horizon, whereupon they were scolded by Percy for leaving the castle alone.

“We would’ve told you,” Ginny had said blandly. “But we didn’t fancy getting called ‘Dark’ again.”

Percy had flushed. “Well – I – Ron was out of line,” he said at last. “Don’t listen to a word he says.”

“I never do, anyways,” Ginny said breezily as they swept by, Harry and Rose stifling their giggles.

“That was brilliant, Ginny,” Rose had said whole-heartedly. The other girl had tossed her hair and winked.

“Of course it was,” she’d said. _“I’m_ brilliant.”

She’d sounded so much like Macha that Harry and Rose had burst out laughing. Then they’d had to bring out Macha herself, who’d preened at the likeness and over Ginny’s awed fawning. They’d sat in the Gryffindor common room, which after everything still felt like (had been the first place she’d ever called) home, when Fred and George had bounded down the stairs.

“Behold, Fred, the Potters!”

“Indeed, George, they of the snakery shenanigans!”

“With their outrageous occamy!”

“For whoever heard of a pair of Potter Parselmouths?” They finished together.

“Oh, shut up,” Ginny said irritably. “You’re going to irritate Macha.”

“Macha,” George mused.

“Could this be the infamous occamy?”

“Goddess of war and death?”

“Love, too,” Rose complained, put out. Why did everyone insist on ignoring that part? It was important! The look the twins gave her were copies of Theo’s unimpressed expression when she’d said the same thing on the train.

“You’re not fooling anyone, ‘Puffy Potter,” Fred said sternly.

“We know you desire the blood of your enemies,” George agreed.

“And yet you still antagonize me?” Rose said, affecting shock. “My, Gryffindors really _are_ brave.”

“That’s us,” George said cheerfully, swinging himself over and flopping down on the couch adjacent to her. He gave an ‘oof’ as Fred did the same.

“Bravest lions that ever stepped foot inside this glorious tower.”

Harry rolled his eyes and hissed at Macha.

_$Scare them a bit, oh beautiful one?$_

Macha gave a pleased hiss and lunged forward playfully, drawing back in satisfaction when both twins yelped and flinched.

“Very brave,” Rose agreed serenely, holding out an arm for Macha to wrap around.

“Bloody hell,” Fred said, eyes round. “That was brilliant.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Harry grinned. Ginny laughed and Rose ran an affectionate finger down Macha’s head. The occamy nipped at her ear affectionately.

 _$I like them, Red One$_ she hissed. _$They give me the respect I am due as their superior$_

When Rose translated, Fred and George promptly fell to her knees before her.

“O great Macha!”

“We are not worthy to be in your presence!”

Then Percy walked in to see his brothers worshipping an occamy, and it was only after a great deal of laughter before anyone could explain. The boy had even grudgingly cracked a smile, which softened when Rose drew him into a conversation about the different runes the Ancient Chinese used when compared to Elder Futhark. From behind his back, the twins gave her a thumbs up.

The boys had always been more Slytherin than most.

* * *

On Christmas morning, she and Harry snuck off to the Room of Requirement. At 5 o’clock, Sirius’ face appeared in the mirror. It shone with anticipation.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Ready,” Rose and Harry answered in unison.

“Right,” he said, turning the mirror around. They were in the middle of a deserted field. They didn’t know and didn’t ask – better that way. The mirror showed them Remus, standing several meters away from the diary and locket, laying on the ground. He was swathed in acromantula silk.

 _“Fiendfyre,”_ Remus hissed, barely audible from the distance. Immediately, the mirror filled with the roar of the cursed fire. It billowed from the end of Remus’ wand like a waterfall, but Remus kept it at a tightly controlled stream. It formed shapes, wolves and stags and dogs, bounding towards the horcruxes and leaving nothing but scorched grass in its wake. They saw the horcruxes go up in flames, heard the dual unearthly screams, saw the metal and paper burn.

Remus banished the Fiendfyre with a twist of his wand, dissipating instantly. There were beads of sweat on his face as he pulled down the hood of his robe, but he looked several years lighter as he grinned at them through the mirror.

* * *

They ended the call, grinning with exhilaration. It wasn’t as satisfying as it would’ve been to see it in person, but Sirius and Remus had been stingy about letting them that close to the cursed fire anyways. She still missed the Yule rites, but seeing the horcruxes burn had settled something inside her. Until now, all their plans to fight Voldemort had been just that: plans. Now, however, they’d actually _done_ something about it.

(but she’d seen the diary scream, so what was opening the Chamber? _Who_ was opening the Chamber?)

“Wait,” Harry said as Rose made to leave. The Room, previously plain, reshaped itself into Rose’s bedroom. “Can we talk? I feel like we haven’t spoken properly in ages.”

She blinked. “Alright.”

They lay down side by side on the carpet, as they usually did. Rose stretched out languidly. She could relax for now – she and Harry were set to search the dorms of every single student over the holidays. Of course, it was possible that whatever object it was _wasn’t_ in the castle, but both of them thought it unlikely. Why, after all, would it risk discovery by going home with whomever it was using? No, she and Harry were sure they’d find the object somewhere in the dorms, but that was later. For now, Rose felt like a cat, sprawled lazily on the ground, content with the stars overhead and her brother by her side.

“Were you friends with the twins, in your past life?” Harry asked.

She blinked, not seeing where he was going with this.

“I just want to know more about you,” he said exasperatedly, but with a depth of feeling that told her he’d been bottling it up for a while. “You look at Gryffindor tower like you belong there.”

She stared at the ceiling. She’d never told anybody this, especially not in this life, but the Dursleys had never hurt her in this life. She wasn’t twenty-one-year-old Rose Potter, Savior, Defeater of Voldemort. She was twelve-year-old Rosie, Harry Potter’s twin sister. She might’ve been a Hufflepuff, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t be brave.

“… It was my first home,” she said at last. “The Hat wanted to put me into Slytherin, but Ron was my first friend.”

“Ron _Weasley?”_ Harry’s voice was thick with disbelief, exaggerated in an effort to cover up the vague distress she could nonetheless hear. He was upset. Of course he was – she’d just implied she hadn’t seen her previous living arrangement as a home. 

“Yeah,” she smiled crookedly. “Met on the train, shared sweets, and told me all this rot about how Slytherin was the place Dark witches and wizards went.”

“Merlin,” Harry snorted.

“I believed him,” Rose said quietly. “I believed him for… my entire time at Hogwarts, really. But I’m not sorry I was sorted into Gryffindor. Ron and Hermione were my best friends. He wrote to his mum and told her I’d never had a Christmas present before, so she sent me a Weasley sweater.”

“… You’d never had a Christmas present?” Harry’s voice was very small. Rose froze, then made a conscious effort to relax, focusing on her breathing. _Inhale for four seconds. Hold for four. Exhale for five._

She wasn’t that person anymore. It was further from her. Harry was mature enough.

(she could do this)

Slowly, her heartbeat slowed, and levelled out. She stared at the stars overhead.

(she was safe)

(they couldn’t hurt her anymore)

“I think I got an old coathanger once,” she whispered. “A pair of socks. When Hagrid burst in through the door and gave me a chocolate cake with my Hogwarts letter, it was the first cake I’d ever had.”

She remembered the letter, addressed to _The Floor, Hut on the Rock, The Sea,_ an address no one had ever questioned. Hogwarts knew when she was being ignored, Rose had learned later – the addresses of _The Cupboard Under the Stairs_ and _The Smallest Bedroom_ had never been subtle and had an affronted undercurrent that’d made her smile.

“They kept me in the cupboard under the stairs,” she said softly. “They only moved me into Dudley’s second bedroom once my letter came, since it had my cupboard on it. Summer before second year, Dobby stole my post and did a hover charm to get me in trouble for accidental magic, so they put locks on the door and bars on the window and fed me cans of soup through a cat flap. Ron and the twins came to rescue me in a flying car.” She gave a wry smile at the ceiling. Somehow, Harry’s hand had found its way into hers, and she gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“The twins picked the lock on my cupboard to get my things,” she recalled. “I’ve always been grateful to them for never talking to me about it – I’m sure they must’ve seen my old mattress and toy soldiers, and they always made sure to send me food over the summer after that. They all did.”

(opening a package from a half-dead Errol, smiling at the meat pies and pasties Mrs. Weasley had made, a pinprick of hope during her desolate summers)

(the undercurrent of worry in the letters each time, Ron’s unsubtle questions of _hope the muggles are feeding you enough)_

(the darkness of her room as she studied magic in the dead of night, torch between her teeth and blanket over her head, stomach gnawing)

She gazed at the white stars on her ceiling. It was the furthest thing from the darkness of the cupboard under the stairs and the yellow streetlamps of Privet Drive.

“That’s why I like the ceiling so much,” she whispered. “It reminds me that I’m not there anymore.” The ceiling, and a million other things – the feel of the soft carpet cocooning her body, the laughter of water as it bubbled in the corner, the gentle pulse of the witchlights overhead. A million things to ground her in the here and now.

“You’re not,” Harry said quietly. “You’re never going back there. Ever.”

“I’ve never even been there, in this life,” she reminded him gently. There was an edge, a firmness to his voice that she’d rarely heard before; it warmed her. “I’m getting better at telling the difference, now. Talking helps.”

“Talk all you want,” Harry said vehemently. His hand gripped hers like a lifeline. “I’ll listen.”

She squeezed him. “I know. Love you, Hare-bear.”

“Love you too, Rosie.”

They lay there beside each other, staring up at the stars, lost in thought.

* * *

They returned to the Tower in the dim light of dawn, creeping into the empty common room and settling down in front of the fire in contented, easy silence. Harry went back to bed, but Rose moved to a table (not her old table, never her old table) and pulled out her Ancient Runes clay block and a few reference books, grimacing in remembered distaste at the memory of the many Memory Potions she’d drunk to learn Ancient Sumerian. Above her, the human-sensitive witchlights brightened. She set the block on the table, grabbing the end of a reed she’d tucked in her bag, and began practicing the wedge-shaped impressions that made up cuneiform. It was, as always, a pain – the clay block had to be just the perfect amount of wet – too little, and the impressions would be too shallow; too much, and they’d smudge. Not that the impressions didn’t smudge to begin with. Rose cursed and wiped the edge of her hand on a handkerchief – any spells and the clay tablet would be contaminated – and heard someone tut from behind.

“Language,” Percy muttered, sliding in next to her. Rose scowled at him

“I _hate_ cuneiform,” she said, with feeling. “Only curse words can convey the depth of my hatred.”

To her pleased shock, Percy hid a smile.

“I know the feeling,” he said. “But we must set a good example.”

Rose eyed him skeptically.

“’We’?” she echoed. _“You’re_ the prefect.”

“Yes,” Percy said patiently, very older-brother-esque. “But people look up to you too, you know, Miss Potter.”

She blinked.

“Call me Rose,” she said. “Miss Potter makes me feel like I’m in trouble.”

“Rose, then,” Percy allowed, setting up his workstation. “Surely you’ve noticed the way the first-years admire you?”

“I suppose,” Rose admitted, because she _had._ Percy had a point. He was also up terribly early. She squinted at him.

“What’re you doing up so early, anyway?” she asked, glancing at her watch. According to the gold watch (none of them wore anything silver, for Remus), it was the new moon, Venus was rising, and just past 7 o’clock on December 25th.

“I should be asking you that,” Percy returned easily. It was the most relaxed she’d ever seen him – gone was the pompous prefect, and in its place the comfortable teenage boy. “I get up this early every day. It’s a bit difficult to get any work done otherwise.”

Rose grinned, remembering the warmth and company and laughter that coloured her memories of Gryffindor Tower (pushing away the memory of those who’d never laugh again). “I can imagine. And to answer your question, I realized I’ve been neglecting my schoolwork.”

Percy sniffed approvingly, the prefect returning at the mention of school. “Well, I think it’s admirable of you to be such a diligent student. I wish my brothers would take a page out of your book. They’ll never get anywhere in life if they don’t focus.”

“They just have different priorities,” Rose said, trying to defend her pseudo-(once-)friends. “Fred and George are brilliant. They just choose to channel that into pranking.”

Percy made a frustrated sound. His ears were reddening, which had been a sure sign of frustration in Ron.

(they were all so similar, and yet so different. She needed to focus on those differences, because otherwise she’d spiral into a flashback and she _could not_ afford a flashback right now)

(it still hurt to look at them, sometimes – they’d been the closest thing she’d had to a family)

 _“I_ know that, and _you_ know that, but their future employers won’t,” he said, running a hand through his hair. He sighed and deflated.

“Sorry, Rose,” Percy said apologetically. “I don’t – I shouldn’t have said all that to you, it’s none of your concern.”

Rose bit her lip, watching him. This boy was a far cry from the pompous boy of her memories. Had she misjudged Percy this badly? This… this harping on his brothers to do better in school… had it come from a place of worry, of love, all this time?

“For what it’s worth,” she said quietly, “I think they’ll be fine. They’re clever enough to make something of themselves no matter what job they choose.”

Percy gave her a strained smile, but there was something warm in his expression.

“Thanks, Rose,” he said. “Now – let’s work on our cuneiform, shall we?”

* * *

The next week was spent in a haze of sleepless nights as they searched for something, anything that might offer a clue as to whom was opening the Chamber. They went through schoolbags and broke through the simpler wards, making note of the more complex schemes and sending them to Remus and Sirius for them to figure out. They worked slowly, methodically, working their way up and focusing on the dorms of those who’d stayed behind. Thankfully, there were barely twenty students who’d done so, everyone else having been eager to go home. They went through Slytherin, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and finally, Gryffindor.

They found adult mags, illegal books, and an absurd number of pranking products, especially in the twins’ dormitories, but nothing else. Nothing too illegal or sinister. Nothing more dangerous than a copy of _Magick Moste Evile_ in a Gryffindor upperclassman’s trunk.

(Rose tried not to think about the enormous breach of privacy)

(it was for the greater good)

* * *

The day before students were due to return to Hogwarts, she overheard the twins on her way back from the Great Hall.

“… can’t do much more without funding,” George was saying.

“Need funding for something?” Rose asked, pushing the door open. She smirked at them as they drew their wands.

“No need for those, I’m just here to talk. Ought to be more careful; at least put a privacy charm on the door.”

“Well there’re only about twenty people in the castle so we didn’t see the point,” Fred grumbled. He moved past her to close the door and lock it with a charm. “Well?”

She looked at both twins. “Will fifty galleons be enough for now? I assume you’re developing your own pranking products.”

George’s eyes narrowed, and he hushed Fred with a jerk of his hand. “What do you want in return?”

Rose smirked. “Monthly updates. Advance warning for generalized pranks. Leave my friends and I alone for targeted ones, but Cedric’s still fair game for quidditch rival pranks. Once you start making profit, we’ll talk more then, but I won’t ask for more than 10%.”

(she would see them succeed. For Percy, for their family, for everyone who looked at them and dismissed them as ‘just another pair of pranksters’)

(for herself, because she was reveling in the look of shock on Fred’s face right now)

“Ten percent?” George goggled. “That’s… absurdly low.”

“And you’re willing to sacrifice pretty-boy Diggory?”

She answered the unasked question. “I like you. You make sure your pranks don’t go too far into bullying, you use spells and potions I’ve never heard of, and I’m getting the idea that 10% will be a good deal of money in a few years.” She also had the gift of foresight, in a sense, but that was no one’s business but her own. “Besides, it’s quidditch. Cedric’ll understand.”

The twins looked at each other. “Deal.”

“Pleasure doing business with you, George,” she said, nodding. She turned to the other. “Fred.”

George raised an eyebrow. “Magical sensitivity?”

She winked. “Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies.”

Fred snorted. “How on earth did you get out of Slytherin?”

“How on earth did _you_ get out of Slytherin?” Rose shot back. She dispelled the charm on the door and left with a flourish.

She’d been able to tell Fred and George apart since her fifth year. It had developed as a sort of sixth sense at first, and only in her current life had she realized she’d been picking up on the differences in their magical auras. She’d always been more magically sensitive than most, and the rituals of the Old Ways only augmented that. She still couldn’t describe it, but they just _felt_ different. Besides, Fred was always a tiny bit more vicious, more ruthless, than George. George was the one who’d had to reel him in from the crueler pranks. Rose had always appreciated that – the only people they’d ever singled out were the bullies, the blood purists, the ones who thought hexing first years in corridors was a grand old time. They could be vicious and cruel, but so could she.

* * *

Rose awoke to Harry calling her name in the mirror. It was still dark out. She fumbled for the mirror under her pillow and grumbled Harry’s name into it.

“What?” she said groggily.

“I need to talk to you,” Harry said urgently. “Right now. I’m in the common room.”

Rose, awakening by the second, was already pulling on her dressing gown. She paused to shoot a Silencing Spell at Ginny’s curtains, before grabbing her wand and hurrying downstairs.

“Wh-“

“Not here,” Harry said, grabbing her hand. He was already wearing the invisibility cloak and pulled her under it. She realized he was leading her to the Room of Requirement, and he started speaking the moment they arrived.

“I just woke up in the dungeons, under the invisibility cloak, with no memory of how I got there,” Harry said. His eyes were wide and panicked. “Do you – do you think the horcrux in my scar -?”

“No,” Rose said firmly. “It never affected me when I had it, and you haven’t touched the diadem so you should be fine. Were you obliviated? Where’s your remembrall?”

Harry looked through the bag at his side, and she could feel his panic when he couldn’t find it.

“It’s not here,” he whispered. “How – I always keep it on me - ?”

“When’s the last time you remember seeing it?” she asked.

“I don’t know – few months ago, maybe?”

“We’ll call Remus and Sirius through the mirror and ask them to send you another one.”

She wished she could give him hers, but the thing was already locked onto her magical signature and would only tell others what they’d forgotten, not reverse the obliviate.

“You think Lockhart – “ Harry looked nauseous.

“I don’t know,” she said quietly. “I – it might’ve been someone else. We shouldn’t make assumptions.”

“If he – “

Harry vomited. Rose, feeling helpless, only patted his back in what she hoped was a soothing manner.

“Maybe it was a prank,” she offered. “Some kind of memory-loss potion the twins were testing? And you got caught by accident?”

It was a weak explanation, but there were very few non-threatening ones. Harry gave her a wane smile and she pulled him into a fierce hug.

“We’ll get your memories back,” she promised.

* * *

Remus and Sirius sent the remembrall the next day. It turned the faintest hint of black after a week, meaning that Harry had been memory charmed. They needed to wait until it was ready to break it, though, so in the meantime there was nothing they could do but search for suspects.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a lot of people have been guessing that Harry was the one opening the Chamber based on the Malfoy duel. The answer should be revealed in one or two chapters, but I can say this: that viciousness was _all_ Harry.


	24. Year 2, Part 11

When Valentine’s Day came, Rose was caught utterly off-guard, which was unfortunate, because otherwise she might not have given such a shrill scream when she first walked through the doors of the Great Hall. It was amid commiserating laughter that she reluctantly stepped through again.

“Sweet Morgana,” Rose whimpered.

Beside her, Justin swore colourfully. None of them, not even Ernie, reprimanded him.

Ernie took a deep breath. “Chin up, chaps! It’s only a day!”

“A lot can happen in a day,” Susan muttered.

“Oh, no,” Hannah groaned. “Su, you jinxed it.”

None of them could summon the energy to laugh. They trudged over to the equally miserable-looking Hufflepuff table. Rose stared in nauseating horror at the heart-shaped confetti polluting her strawberries. She refused to look at the walls – she’d taken one look at those neon pink flowers and fled, after all. One more look and she’d be exiting the Great Hall at a sprint.

“Happy Valentine’s Day!” Lockhart shouted. Rose wanted to jinx him, maybe curse off his hair, blacken his teeth - 

“And may I thank the forty-six people who have so far sent me cards! Yes, I have taken the liberty of arranging this little surprise for you all – “

“It’s a surprise, all right,” Justin said glumly.

“And it doesn’t end here!” Lockhart clapped his hands. Rose felt her stomach fall somewhere around the Chamber of Secrets as a dozen grouchy looking dwarves marched in. A few late students scrambled out of their way, looking confused and horrified. The dwarves were wearing golden wings and carrying harps.

“I object to this cruel and unusual punishment.” Rose said.

“My friendly, card carrying cupids!” beamed Lockhart. “They will be roving around the school today delivering your valentines!”

“I hope Finnegan sets one of them on fire,” Zacharias Smith muttered.

“I’m sure my colleagues will want to enter into the spirit of the occasion! Why not ask Professor Snape to show you how to whip up a Love Potion!”

“Those are _illegal,”_ Susan hissed.

“And while you’re at it, Professor Flitwick knows more about Entrancing Enchantments than any wizard I’ve ever met, the sly old dog!”

Hannah whimpered. “Poor Professor Flitwick.” He’d buried his face in his hands. Professor Snape looked murderous. Rose glanced at the Slytherin table and caught Blaise’s eye. He looked as miserable as she felt. Blaise was the prettiest boy in the year, after all – he was probably going over his Will.

* * *

It was worse than horrible. All day long, the dwarves burst into classrooms, disrupting lectures and delivering valentines. After the fifth interruption in Transfiguration, Rose had pulled the sixth aside and bribed them with fifteen galleons if they stopped and went home. Professor McGonagall looked like she didn’t know whether to take points or thank her. When Rose did the same thing in Herbology, Professor Sprout cheerfully awarded Hufflepuff five points for ‘minimizing classroom disruptions.’ Several students had taken to stunning the dwarves whenever they saw one.

Rose felt a bit bad – it was really Lockhart’s fault, after all, not the dwarves – but she was too busy being appalled at the sheer number of valentines she received to do much about it. It was lucky she had Herbology that day, else the curses on some of them wouldn’t have been repelled by her dragonhide gloves. She’d given the explanation so often that by lunch she was wondering whether she ought to just stick a sign to her forehead.

“D’you think anyone would mind if I just burned them?” Rose sighed, laying her head in her arms. She’d cast an Umbrella Charm over herself and her food to keep them confetti-free.

“If I sent someone a valentine and they burned it, I think I’d mind very much,” Justin said, amused. She shot him a glare through her hair.

“Do you have _any idea_ how many thank-you letters I’m going to have to write?” she groaned.

“Oh, no,” he said flatly. “Popularity, what a curse.”

She threw a handful of confetti at him half-heartedly. “Just let me complain, Finch-Fletchley.”

Justin snickered. His face did an about-turn when a dwarf trotted up to him.

* * *

That night, she abandoned Hufflepuff for the Slytherin table.

“This isn’t Friday,” Blaise said, grinning.

“Congratulations,” Rose said flatly. “So you’ve finally learned the days of the week. And I’m not speaking to my Housemates right now.” She sent a glare over her shoulder. “They’ve been terribly unkind.”

“Have they now?” Daphne asked, a smile curling at the edges of her lips.

“Yes. They said it would be rude to burn my valentines.”

Theo snickered. “They’re not wrong.”

Rose gave an incoherent groan. “Shut up and let me complain, you thick-headed imbecile.”

“You get caustic when you’re annoyed,” Daphne observed, sounding vaguely fascinated.

“I think my insults are fairly basic, actually.”

“What?”

“Basic? As in bases? And caustic? As in – “

“Merlin, Potter, that’s awful.”

“Be gentle, I’ve had an awful day.”

* * *

For all that it was traumatizing, the events of Valentines day _did_ unite the students in their misery, and there was an air of relief and camaraderie in the days afterwards. Of course, it didn’t last - when Terry Boot and Cassius Warrington were petrified three days later, everyone withdrew from everyone else, retreating into huddles of their closest friends and eyeing everyone else with a vague suspicion. Students were no longer allowed on their own, not even prefects. The Hogwarts Common Room was abandoned. Students were walked from their dorms, to the Great Hall, to classrooms, and escorted to bathrooms. They spent their free time either in the library or Great Hall under supervision.

(on the bright side, the petrification of a Slytherin pureblood did volumes to absolve Slytherin House of the suspicious glances and hissed insults it’d been receiving recently, despite Rose’s efforts)

(on the downside, Dumbledore’s removal of the school came earlier than she remembered. Rose hoped it didn’t mean everything else would be earlier as well)

The mood of the school was gloomy. Rose could feel it in the air, the low mood of so many magicals turning the skies grey and cloudy. The singing daisies in the greenhouses began to wilt, but the nightmare roses flourished. Fawkes had taken to appearing around the castle, crooning softly and bringing hope into people’s hearts. Hot chocolate was a staple at every meal, and the prefects made sure everyone had at least a cup a day. Rose and Cedric had Futhark out in the common room more often than ever, the little cat finding an excellent friend in the likely sentient ivy. More than a few people were amused at the sight of Futhark wrestling the ivy (and, most of the time, losing). A few students brought down guitars and flutes to play, and Rose owled home for her violin. The Hufflepuffs held impromptu concerts sometimes, the muggle-raised students introducing the concept of karoke and sing-alongs, and they had a grand time warbling off-tune around the main fireplace, the witchlights above them bouncing to the beat. It didn’t get rid of the clouds, but it did lighten them.

Rose had never loved her House more.

 _This_ was what she was fighting for. Family, friendship, comradery – half-bloods Brianna Melton and Beatrice Haywood teaching Marcus Carpenter the words to “Barbie Girl,” eliciting laughter and muddled explanations of what a Barbie was; Hannah Abbott teaching Leanne Frobisher the guitar; Jeffrey Powell starting up a miniature toad choir that failed miserably but was hilarious while it lasted. _This_ was what she was fighting to protect. _This_ was what she wanted for all the other children who’d been hidden away in cupboards, for her friends, for those she loved.

This was _hers._

* * *

While Harry and Rose waited for the remembrall, they decided to finally risk it and go into the Chamber. Enough time had passed that they could plausibly have found the entrance, especially as both were known Parselmouths. Besides, Dumbledore was gone – they could get away with a lot more, but so could whomever was opening the Chamber.

Rose drew a motion-activated warding scheme on the side of the sink. She’d used her best ink, but it was still weak and flaky. It would have to do, though.

 _$Open$_ she hissed. The sink sank into the ground, an enormous hole opening up. Rose took a moment to cast Impervious Charms on herself and Harry – it was visibly grimy – before jumping down the pipe in a leap of faith.

The fall took longer than she’d remembered – just as she was wondering if she’d been mistaken and they’d end up falling forever, the pipe leveled out and she fell, bouncing, onto the ground. She got to her feet and dispelled the charm, flinching as bones crunched beneath her feet. After Harry had landed and dispelled his charm as well, they looked around.

They were in a tunnel, wet and dark and slimy. Rose whispered a _lumos_ for light and they made their way down the tunnel.

Harry grabbed her hand as something large loomed ahead.

“Just a snakeskin,” Rose murmured, squeezing back, but the light trembled.

Soon, they came to a solid wall, carved with two entwined serpents. As she and Harry approached, they turned to look at them.

 _$Open$_ Harry said, in a low, faint hiss.

The wall split cleanly down the middle and slid open. They were at the end of a very long, dimly lit chamber. The sight of the stone pillars, the enormous statue of Salazar Slytherin, sent memories crashing straight through her occlumency shields, and her knees buckled.

 _(kill her,_ Riddle hissed – a silver sword falling out of a hat – a searing pain just above her elbow, sending white-hot pain through her body, she was going to die, she knew, but if she was going to die she was going to take him with her - )

“Rose! Rose, it’s alright,” Harry soothed. She clutched him, the warmth of him staving off the damp chill of the Chamber, and sobbed. It was so much – the memories pressed down on her with the full weight of the Chamber, Tom Riddle’s laugh echoing in her ears. Any moment now would come the scrape of scale on stone, any moment now would come the burning pain in her arm, the warm wetness of her blood soaking her robes -

“Sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry – “

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” he said quietly. “There’s no rush. Take as long as you need.”

She laughed wetly. “Isn’t there, though? What if the heir comes down?”

“Then we fight them,” Harry said, reckless Gryffindor that he was.

“We’d die, stupid,” she mumbled. She held on to him anyway, hugging for dear life. Harry was light and warm and _alive._ She breathed in the scent of home, of Remus’ tea blend clinging to the collar of his robes. He was her brother, and she was safe with him. She wasn’t alone, not this time.

(not ever)

Her heartbeat slowed. Tension melted from her body. Harry was sending calming pulses through their twin bond and she clutched at it for dear life.

She took a breath. “C’mon, let’s go.”

She met Harry’s worried look with a reassuring one of her own. They stood and began to explore.

“We’re looking for a study,” Rose murmured. “Anything that might tell us more about the Chamber – it can’t _just_ be the basilisk, surely?”

“Maybe in Parseltongue,” Harry suggested. “Er…” _$Study. Room. Library - $_

At ‘library,’ a door shimmered into existence next to Salazar’s feet.

“Oh,” Rose said faintly. “That was…”

“Worryingly easy,” Harry finished. They looked at the door. It looked very innocent – or, at least, as innocent as a secret door in a secret chamber with a basilisk could look. They cast all the revealing spells they knew, which wasn’t many, but the door seemed to be just that: a door.

Cautiously, Harry reached out and pushed it open. It gave way with a low rumble, needing only the faintest of pressures. As they walked in, torches lit themselves all around the room. In unison, they gasped.

It looked like the Slytherin common room, but with more books. Green and silver upholstery, elegant dark wood furniture. The walls were themselves covered in bookshelves, scrolls and books alike. She could feel the preservation magic tingling in the air – it felt like the library, the same sense of _fragile_ and _ancient_ and _I have been here longer than you can understand_. Rose wondered if it, too, would scream if someone dared eat in the presence of a book. In the center of the room, there was an old, wooden desk. They approached it warily, but all it held was –

 _$What_ is _that?$_ Harry hissed, slipping into Parseltongue. It was automatic – the symbols carved into a stone tablet on the desk were… it looked like English, which was impossible. She stared at it, and it seemed to waver before her eyes, going from English to squiggles and back again.

 _$A written form of Parseltongue?$_ Rose guessed. _$The language here, it’s almost modern$_

_$And Riddle would never do anything like this$_

_$I don’t know if he even knew about it$_ Rose said quietly. _$Wouldn’t he have taken the books, if he knew?$_

They exchanged looks, then read the tablet, looking for answers.

_$To my heir,_

_If you are reading this message, then the magic of the room has deemed you worthy of it. I leave these instructions to you in the event that Hogwarts is besieged and her students must retreat to this last place of refuge._

_The Chamber is connected to the rooms of all four founders. You may stay here as Selena cleanses the castle of its intruders. Rowena’s room, Selena, and Fawkes should be able to supply you with all that you require. As you wait to reclaim the castle, you may read the materials I leave here. I had quite an argument with Rowena over hoarding knowledge, but knowledge can be dangerous in the wrong hands. I leave it to you, my heir, to decide for yourself. Protect the students of Hogwarts and defend our castle, for it is your birthright._

_Your ancestor,_

_Salazar Slytherin$_

Long after they finished reading, they stared at the tablet.

“Selena…” Rose murmured. “Harry, you don’t think – “

“A basilisk seems like it’d be good at ‘cleansing the castle of its intruders,’” Harry said quietly.

“But it sounds like he meant it as a defence against something _outside._ Wouldn’t muggleborns be _inside?”_

“Maybe he’s assuming he’s already driven them out?”

“But then why would Fawkes – “

At that, the phoenix himself appeared in a burst of golden flame, shimmering into existence atop the tablet. Harry and Rose jumped back, startled, Rose whipping out her wand with a spell on her lips before her brain caught up with her instincts.

“Fawkes,” Rose said faintly. “What – “

Fawkes chirruped and dipped his head, drawing their attention to –

 _“The Sorting Hat?”_ Harry asked incredulously.

* * *

Flitwick was covering the theory for _obliviate_ in Charms, ironically. Rose didn’t know if it was supposed to be in the second-year curriculum or not, but she had to hold back a snort when he announced it.

“Mnemone Radford first developed the Memory Charm in 1634, becoming the first Ministry of Magic Obliviator. It is an immensely complex spell, one taught only to Obliviators and Unspeakables, who have to swear an oath not to teach it to anyone else. If done incorrectly, it can cause permanent, irreversible memory loss and brain damage, which is why usage of the Memory Charm without a license is a 5-year stay in Azkaban. If done correctly, however, it is possible to restore the lost memory using a rememberall, or with the aide of a skilled Mind Healer, within a year of the charm being cast.”

Rose took notes diligently, grateful that the Hufflepuffs had Charms with the Slytherins and not the Gryffindors. She’d need to warn Harry about the lesson – he had it next week, and she didn’t want him to be caught off-guard. Malfoy, oddly enough, was silent. He usually asked at least a few questions during class – he was quite good at Charms – but he said nothing. She wondered, absently, if he was still afraid of her and Harry – Macha and the duel had been several months ago, after all.

(she pushed down a prickle of guilt when she noticed how very alone he was, Pansy Parkinson having abandoned him to sit with Tracey Davis and Emma Vane)

* * *

By the end of February, the remembrall had turned pure black and begun emitting a faint warmth. Harry and Rose communicated via mirrors. They met at the Room of Requirement at midnight, him under the cloak, herself disillusioned, and watched with bated breath as Harry smashed the remembrall on the ground.

The glass, enchantment-free as it was, shattered instantly. The smoke exploded outwards, swirling around Harry’s feet and rising around him like a tornado, encasing him in a column of black. She heard him scream but dared not interfere. It went on for what felt like hours, but what was in reality likely only seconds. When the smoke dissipated, Harry was on his knees, clutching his head, eyes screwed shut with pain. Rose reached out for their twin bond and sent pulses of calming magic down the link. When Harry relaxed, she was brave enough to hug him.

“The – the diadem,” Harry choked.

 _“What?”_ Rose said in disbelief. She’d been ready for Lockhart, but – the _diadem?_

“I – I found an acromantula silk cloak in the Room,” Harry gasped. “I wrapped it around my hand and tried to grab the diadem, but when I touched it my – my scar hurt – it was like a compulsion, I couldn’t stop myself – and then I just kept it with me, I would take it out sometimes and wear it with the curtains drawn around my bed, I couldn’t – I couldn’t tell you, and I was loosing time and – Rosie,” Harry said, clutching her arms. His eyes were wild with panic and guilt and shame.

“I was the one opening the Chamber,” he said. “It was me, this whole time, it had to be, but I still can’t remember what happened before I woke up in the dungeons, which means – “

“You were possessed,” she whispered. “Merlin, it possessed you, but there’s been another attack - Terry and Warrington - how - ?”

“That one wasn’t me,” Harry said. “But I think – the last time I ever lost my memories was over break. I think the diadem obliviated me while possessing me and made me give it to someone else. Rose, it – I can’t describe it, it was like it _wanted_ me to pick it up, I’m so sorry – “

“It’s not your fault,” she told him firmly. “It’s not – I never actually touched the diadem in my past life, I don’t know what kind of enchantments were on it – Dumbledore was compelled to put on the ring, wasn’t he? It’s not your fault, Harry.”

“But now it’s probably with a Slytherin,” he said, horrified. “I was too deep in the dungeons for it to be Hufflepuff.”

“Then at least we’ve excluded three quarters of the school,” she told him firmly. “And at least it wasn’t Lockhart.”

Harry gave a shaky laugh. She could feel him calming, reaching out for the bulwark of stability she tried to provide. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “’least it wasn’t Lockhart.”

They sat on the ground for a while, hugging, before finally deciding to go back to their dorms. Rose vanished the glass with a quiet _evanesco_ as they stood.

“Wait,” Rose said, frowning. “Didn’t we already check the diadem though? After Creevey?”

“It didn’t feel like the real diadem,” Harry mused. “Maybe – we should check – “

“And if it _is_ the real diadem?” Rose asked nervously. They looked at each other.

“Can’t be,” Harry said. “I never would’ve given it up of my own will, so only the diadem could’ve put itself back there and it wouldn’t do that – I could feel it.”

Rose bit her lip. “I suppose we do have to check.”

“Together, then?” Harry said. “We’ll keep an eye on each other.”

“This is so reckless,” Rose sighed. “If we tell Sirius and Remus, they’ll slaughter us.”

They stepped outside, closed the door, and summoned the Room of Hidden Things. Harry led them to where he’d found the diadem, but the only thing on the wardrobe was a dusty old top hat.

“Transfigured, do you think?” Rose said quietly. Neither of them touched it.

“Probably,” Harry said. “Merlin, it’s so _clever.”_

“It’s You-Know-Who,” Rose said glumly. “He was a genius.”

 _(but he was also insane,_ an insidious voice inside her whispered. _He might’ve made a mistake like this)_

“… I think we should tell the others. Our other friends, I mean – Neville, Susan, you know.”

“What? Why?” Rose asked.

“Not the reincarnation thing – maybe we could say you’re some kind of Seer? It worked perfectly on us,” Harry said, grinningly wryly. “You can’t deny it’d be helpful to have more people looking out for it – plus Blaise, Theodore, and Daphne actually _are_ Slytherins. Wait - ”

There was a pause as they looked at each other, stricken.

“You don’t think – “

“We would’ve noticed, wouldn’t we?”

“I didn’t notice _you,_ ” Rose objected.

“Yeah, because you were obsessing over the Chamber and you thought it _couldn’t_ be me. But otherwise – I got cleverer, didn’t I? I kept wanting to give it to you, so it taught me tricks, made me better – ”

“The Ritual Rooms,” Rose breathed. “I wondered how you learned to speak like that – “

“It was magic,” Harry said. “Sort of – weaving magic into my voice, I don’t know how to describe it – I didn’t like it, it reminded me of the Imperius Curse, but it worked, didn’t it?”

“Occlumency shields – “

“Need to be strong as hell,” Harry said. “Don't ask me how I know that, I just do. Maybe Snape or Dumbledore noticed, but I’m not very good at it yet, I could only add a little, so I was just persuasive, not… it could’ve been passed off as accidental magic, is what I’m saying.”

“Are you sure?” Rose asked.

“Positive – they would’ve done something if they were worried. Anyway – we’ve gotten off-track. If I gave the diadem to any of our Slytherin friends, they would’ve definitely changed, like I did.”

“So I suppose the question is,” she said. “How well do we know our friends?”

Harry held her gaze, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes that melted as he spoke. “We’ll keep an eye on them,” he said firmly. “The diadem tried to isolate me, I think – I remember thinking I ought to stop hanging out with you lot, it tried to turn me against you, but – “

“But you fought,” Rose finished. “You fought, which is probably why it had you give it to someone else.”

“We’ll have to look for loners,” Harry said. “And if our friends seem the same, if they don’t seem to be pulling away or – “

“We tell them,” she said. “As much as we can.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... it was Harry! But not anymore! A lot of you guessed him, though consensus seemed split on whether it was the diadem or scarcrux, and in hindsight I probably should've been more subtle, oops :') but yeah, one more chapter until the climax! And if you're confused about what's happening, there'll be a chapter after the climax from Harry's POV, so just hold on 'til then! I'm very excited, and hope you all are too!  
> As always, thanks to everyone who reads/comments/bookmarks/leaves kudos - there's over 600 kudos and 200 bookmarks, which is _insane,_ let me tell you. I'm absolutely blown away by the response to this story, and I appreciate each and every one of you <3


	25. Year 2, Part 12

It took a week of careful examination to determine that none of their friends, Slytherin or not, was under the influence of the diadem. None of them had acted oddly since the winter holidays, nor had any withdrawn. There was none of that intoxicating charisma that seemed to be Voldemort’s signature, none of that cold fury that’d frightened her so much in Harry.

(they hoped it would be enough)

* * *

In the end, they decided not to go with the Seer explanation. There were too many holes, too many ways for it to go wrong, and neither of them wanted to put on such an act (to lie so badly) to their friends.

(she didn’t think she could tell them the truth either, though)

* * *

Harry slipped Theo a note during Potions, asking the three Slytherins to meet him at the entrance to the Slytherin common room at 3 o’clock in the morning.

Half an hour before then, he left Gryffindor Tower with Neville and Hermione, dropping them off at the Room of Requirement’s recreation of the Badger Hole. Then he picked up Rose and Susan from the Hufflepuff common room and delivered _them,_ finally arriving with the Slytherins at a quarter past 3 in the morning. It was messy and complicated and Neville had to be poked awake by the time they’d arrived, but finally – _finally –_ everyone was there.

“The thing that’s petrifying the students is a basilisk,” Rose said. “It’s being controlled by an old diadem that holds a piece of You-Know-Who inside it.”

In hindsight, she could’ve chosen a more delicate way to broach the topic. Harry gave her an exasperated look as instant pandemonium erupted.

“I _knew_ it!” Hermione cried, slamming her hands down on the table. “Well, not the diadem bit, but I _knew_ it was a basilisk – “

“A basilisk?!” Neville asked faintly, face completely white.

 _“What?”_ Daphne gaped, all decorum forgotten.

In the noise, Theo’s voice went almost unnoticed.

(almost)

“The Heir of Slytherin…” Theo murmured. “It’s him, then? The Dark Lord?”

Silence. Hermione and Daphne calmed, Neville clamped his mouth shut, and all eyes turned to Harry and Rose, expectant and scared.

“A piece of him,” Harry said quietly. “It has a compulsion on it that can get around Family and Heir Rings,” Harry said, fiddling with his Potter Heir Ring and Black Family Ring. They were heirlooms, passed down from one member to another, enchanted to the gills to allow the wearer resistance to weaker compulsions and legilimency probes. It took someone truly skilled, like Voldemort or Dumbledore, to get around them, but even then eye contact was often required. Not so with the diadem – from the way Harry told it, all the diadem needed was proximity.

“I had it first,” Harry confessed. “I didn’t – I couldn’t – “ he swallowed, and Rose took her hand in his.

“It’s not your fault,” she said fiercely. “You were under a spell. A _powerful_ spell.”

“Yeah,” Harry said tonelessly.

“Anyway,” he said. “You’re not normally supposed to be able to remember what happens when you’re possessed, but I remember enough. I remember that the monster’s a basilisk and that the diadem made me give it to someone in Slytherin over Yule, so we need your help to find out who.”

“Harry fought it,” Rose said, glaring at her brother for leaving that bit out. “It tried to isolate him but he refused to let it, so it went to someone else. They could be in any year, but likely a Slytherin. Someone alone and friendless, susceptible to the diadem’s magic. Remember, Family and Heir Rings don’t matter.”

“Hang on,” Daphne frowned. “If the monster’s a basilisk, how come no one’s died?”

“Because no one’s looked it in the eye,” Hermione said promptly. “Colin saw it through his camera. Parvati must’ve seen it through Nearly-Headless Nick. Terry and Warrington were facing a window.”

“That’s… very convenient…” Daphne said slowly. _Almost suspiciously convenient,_ Rose knew she meant.

“It is,” Harry agreed grimly. He’d told her that he thought You-Know-Who didn’t want anyone dead, for whatever reason, but they weren’t quite ready to share that with their friends yet. “Which is why it’s important that we catch whoever’s being possessed as soon as possible.”

“We’ll keep an eye out,” Blaise promised. Theo and Daphne nodded, both looking pale.

“Good,” Rose said briskly. “Now – it’s not that we don’t trust you,” she said, “but it’s very important that none of you say _anything_ about this. People might not understand that it wasn’t Harry’s fault. We’re lucky that there hasn’t been as big a backlash as there could’ve been over the Parselmouth thing - ”

“Rose – “ Harry began, but she cut him off.

“No,” she snapped, glaring at him. “I’m not letting anyone put your safety at risk. Do you understand?” she asked, voice hard. “Harry could get seriously hurt. People could attack him.” She stared her friends down. Had it been her who’d been possessed, she wouldn’t have cared half as much, but this was _Harry._ She would take no chances.

“Oh, we understand,” Hermione said, looking hurt and affronted. “You don’t trust us to – “

“She’s just worried,” Neville said quietly, soothing Hermione with practiced ease. “We understand,” he added kindly, smiling at Rose. “We’re all occlumens. No one’s going to pluck it from our heads either.” The others nodded in agreement, the hurt clearing from their expressions at Neville’s words. Harry sent his friend a grateful look.

“Good,” Rose said, taking a deep breath. “Thank you.”

* * *

“I’m surprised you haven’t suggested sending anonymous tip to the DMLE,” Rose broached tentatively that night. She and Susan were in their room, having just gotten dropped off by Harry, and Rose had thrown up a few privacy charms before speaking. Susan was the niece of Amelia Bones, after all, and Rose had expected more adherence to the law.

Susan shook her head, a rueful smile on her lips.

“They’ve got ways of tracing the ‘anonymous’ tips,” she said. “My Auntie told me. They’d bring us in on trumped-up reasons and try to ferret it out of us.”

Rose stared. She couldn’t help herself.

“I would’ve thought – “

“I’d be more trusting of authority?” Susan asked. “Less cynical?”

Rose nodded wordlessly. Susan smiled, but there was a sad, wry slant to her mouth.

“I _want_ to trust in the system,” Susan said. “But I can’t. My Auntie’s told me all about how corrupt the Ministry is, how she needs to fight to get anything done – I trust _her,_ but I don’t trust _them._ There are changes that need to happen first. That’s why I want to work there,” Susan added fiercely. “I want to change things, make things fairer. I want to turn the Ministry into an institution I can trust.”

“You will,” Rose said quietly. There was conviction blazing in Susan’s eyes, a passion there Rose had never seen before. She caught her breath. “I have faith in you.”

Susan laughed a little embarrassedly, and the moment passed.

“Yes, well,” Susan blushed. “That’s why, if the DMLE _does_ get a tip, it won’t be from me.”

* * *

(Rose wasn’t the only one who’d been frustrated at how difficult it’d been to plan a meeting. By the look in Hermione’s eye she was already thinking of a more complex form of the DA galleons. Rose’s guess was confirmed when Harry’s mirror was frequently co-opted by the girl in the following days, discussing possibilities for an easier and more secure form of communication.

“It ought to be writing,” Hermione said. “So we can do it during class. Maybe – I’ll read up on how computers work, over the summer.”

Rose raised her eyebrows. “A magical computer?”

“Well, why not? It’s a good concept, isn’t it?” Hermione said defensively.

“No, I wasn’t – it’s genius, Hermione, I was just surprised. We can meet up over the summer, then?”

“Yes, please,” Hermione said, and the tension that’d hung between them ever since that late-night talk began to ease)

* * *

In the days after they told their friends, Rose found a curious easing of the weight on her shoulders. It wasn’t just her and Harry now – their friends knew what was happening, and they were on the lookout, too. It was nice, to have more people to plot with, to share secret smiles and understanding, anxious glances over breakfast.

February turned into March, the days crawling, one after another. The snow began to melt, and Luna sighed longingly whenever she caught sight of the Forbidden Forest.

“It’ll be over soon,” she murmured. “And then we can visit the thestrals again, right?” she asked hopefully, tilting her head to look at Rose.

They were sitting on the front steps of the castle, Rose having talked Professor Sprout into supervising an hour for students to spend outside. It was still a bit chilly though, and Rose relished the heated steps as she stretched. The sky stretched, blue and endless, above them, and Rose held up a hand to shade her eyes as she gazed at the trees. A slight breeze ruffled the ends of her hair, and she breathed it in. Fred and George had stolen Percy’s prefect badge again, and were being chased around groups of students sunning themselves on the grass. Harry was holding an impromptu Defence club lecture by the lake, and distantly she saw the crowd of students grow and pair themselves off. By the looks of things, they were practicing _rictumsempra._ Cedric had Joshua Wilkerson bent double, and she heard the boys laugh all the way from her seat on the steps.

“Of course,” she replied. “I hope it’ll be over soon, too. I miss the thestrals.” Surprisingly, she really did. There was a warmth she felt in their presence, a sense of belonging she craved. It was always quiet too – for all that she loved Hufflepuff, the House was a rowdy bunch, and sometimes she just needed to be alone.

(that was why she was here, away from the Defence club. Harry and Professor Flitwick had it in hand, anyways)

(oddly enough, Luna’s company didn’t seem to count. Rose was comfortable with the other girl in a way she wasn’t with anyone else, save Harry)

Luna glanced at her, then reached over and caught Rose’s hand.

“You’ll need to trust him,” she said. “Will you promise?”

“Trust who?” Rose asked, bewildered and suddenly a little frightened. She turned to look at Luna. The things she was saying… it sent shivers up Rose’s spine.

“Harry.” Luna said. “Promise you’ll trust him? No matter what?”

“I promise,” Rose said weakly. “Luna, what – “

But no matter what Rose said, no matter how she persuaded or cajoled or begged, Luna refused to be moved.

“You’ll see,” she would only say. And “I’m sorry.”

* * *

The next week passed in a tense haze. Every class Gryffindor and Slytherin shared, Blaise would give Harry a signal: if he carried his bag on the left shoulder, he had nothing. Bag on the right shoulder meant they needed to talk. On Friday, he walked into Potions with his bag on his right.

“I know this is going to sound absurd,” Blaise began. “But hear me out, alright?”

They were sitting at the end of the Gryffindor table, Rose having asked Fred and George to cover them. They already felt like they were in her debt from the funding thing; it’d been almost pitifully easy.

(everyone began as a tool before they became a friend)

“We’re listening,” Harry assured him.

“We think it’s Malfoy,” Blaise said firmly. “Ever since your… duel,” he paused diplomatically. “His friends have been, well – “

“Parkinson’s barely spoken to him for weeks,” Daphne said bluntly. “Goyle’s only there because his parents told him to be. Crabbe’s just about the only person Malfoy has left, and even then he spends more time with Millicent Bulstrode than not, especially since Malfoy’s stopped saying the,” she paused diplomatically. “M-word.”

“And he’s been looking awful,” Theo said quietly. They all turned and glanced at Malfoy. He really _did_ look terrible – he had bags under his eyes and was picking at his food.

“Like something’s draining the life from him,” Rose said quietly. They exchanged worried glances.

“We haven’t got any proof,” Harry said at last. “Keep an eye on him? And see if he ever slips off anywhere alone.”

* * *

In mid March, one week after the Slytherins had shared their suspicions about Malfoy, Harry called her over the mirror.

“Can we talk?”

“Alright,” Rose said, waiting expectantly.

“In person,” Harry amended, looking vaguely uncomfortable.

Pause. “Sure.”

“Brilliant, I’ll meet you outside your common room at two a.m. under the cloak.”

She slid out the portrait hole three hours later, having spent the interim period practicing her Notice-Me-Not Charm (the Disillusionment Charm required a level of control she didn’t yet have, unfortunately), joining Harry under their invisibility cloak. He led them to the Room of Requirement, and when they pushed open the door, she found a copy of her bedroom at Potter Manor. There was something in the set of his jaw that unnerved her, a foreign emotion when it came to Harry. They sat on the edge of her bed and Harry locked gazes with her.

“You let me get away with far too much,” he said bluntly. “You let me talk you out of things, let me do things that make you uncomfortable, and don’t say anything about it because you don’t trust your own judgement and think I know better than you.”

She stared at him. _“What?_ I do _not_ \- _”_

His eyes narrowed. “Yes, you do. You let me talk you out of setting wards on the entrance to the Chamber back in November. I didn’t even have a good argument for it, I just wanted it, but I was under the influence of the diadem. If you’d gone against me and set those wards, you might’ve caught me.”

“Those were extenuating circumstances,” she protested, getting angry. She _did_ trust her own judgement! And, more than that, she trusted _Harry’s_ judgement.

“You were being influenced by the diadem, you said so yourself, ordinarily you would’ve agreed – “

“But you can’t always depend on that,” Harry argued. “Don’t you see? You trust me far too much – “

 _(promise you’ll trust him,_ Luna whispered)

“It’s none of your business how much I trust you – “ she began.

(she was so confused)

“It is if it hurts us,” he shot back. “How many times have we argued before now? How many times have you disagreed with me, have you thought I was making a mistake, and kept quiet?”

“Not often,” she said angrily.

“But it’s _happened,_ hasn’t it?” Harry pressed. “I can’t trust you unless I know you’re going to question my decisions and opinions.”

Rose felt like she’d been punched. Harry looked apologetic, but he pressed his lips together and said nothing.

“Fine,” she said at last. “Fine, I’ll question you, happy?”

“Ecstatic,” he said flatly.

* * *

That night, Rose couldn’t sleep. She kept tossing and turning, Harry’s words echoing in her head. He was upset because she _trusted_ him too much? What kind of problem was that?! Why was Harry upset that she trusted his judgement too much, that she followed where –

 _Not **too much** trust,_ a voice in her head whispered. **_Blind_** _trust._

Oh.

Harry wanted a sister, a companion, a friend; not a follower. He’d said himself that he was reckless and impulsive – it would be her job to hold him back, temper him, make sure he didn’t get into too much trouble.

(the way George tempered Fred)

(the way Padma tempered Parvati)

_(promise you’ll trust him)_

(trust him to what?)

(to know what he needed)

It was an odd shift from the relationships she’d had in her past life. She’d been trying to force Harry into the role she’d once filled with Ron and Hermione: that of the unequivocal leader. She would jump when he told her to, would aim where he pointed, would follow his orders because that was what she thought love was. Ron and Hermione had loved her and they’d followed her until they simply couldn’t anymore. Rose loved Harry, therefore she would follow him.

But Harry didn’t want that, did he? He wanted her beside him, not behind him. All those times she’d come up with the plan and looked to him for the final say – had he been uncomfortable? Had he wanted to decide together?

She remembered the heavy weight of responsibility, the feeling of looking at her peers and knowing that her choices would dictate who lived and who died. She’d worked so hard to escape it that she’d inadvertently shoved it onto Harry, hadn’t she?

Harry didn’t deserve such a burden. It was unfair of her to push it onto him – had she not complained about the Magical World doing that very same thing with the ‘Chosen One’ ordeal? And here she was, repeating past mistakes.

(just because she’d lived through this once didn’t mean she’d be better this time)

(improvement took work. It took work and time and the self-awareness to know not only when you were improving, but when you _weren’t)_

Harry might be the child of the prophecy in this world, but he didn’t have to bear every weight alone and neither did she. He didn’t want her to take or give anything in its entirety – he wanted her to _share._

* * *

“I understand now,” she told him the next night over the mirror. “I’m sorry.”

His eyes were soft, forgiving. “It’s alright. Just do better next time, yeah?”

(she needed to trust him to know what he needed, and what Harry needed wasn’t a follower – it was a sister) 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I was going to do the Seer explanation, but an astute commenter pointed out how many holes there were in it, so I changed it! Thanks so much to GenreisNeutral :)   
> If any of you have other suggestions/thoughts, feel free to drop them in a comment, and I'll take them into consideration! I've already made changes to what I'd prewritten, and I'm always looking to improve!  
> Next chapter is the climax!!


	26. Year 2, Part 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> at last, the climax! Hope you enjoy :)

Rose couldn’t help but feel uneasy as they approached March 20th. Ostara, the spring equinox, was a day that symbolized the coming of spring and renewal of life. It celebrated the changing of the seasons, the return of the light. Somewhere along the way, the literal return of light became the metaphorical return of the Light, which was why the celebration of Mabon, the autumn equinox and Ostara’s counterpart, had been outlawed.

Normally, Rose loved Ostara. It was an outdoor ritual, not as popular as Samhain, but peaceful. She and Harry led their friends, barefoot, to the edge of the Forbidden Forest, onto a strip of grass between the trees and the lake; had they been allowed, they would’ve tried to find an oak grove. They knelt, scooping out shallow holes in the earth, pressing in a seed. Neville had brought back a cloth sack full of _Campanula medium,_ Canterbury bells, for those who’d be taking part in the ritual for the first time. Some of them, like Harry, Rose, and Susan, had their own already.

They buried their seeds in the dirt, covering it gently. Then, cupping water from the lake in their hands, they watered the place they’d planted. The physical amount of water didn’t matter – it was the magic in the earth, air, and water, further boosted by the seven times they made the trip. When the last drop of water hit the earth, they sat cross-legged and watched as _Campanula medium_ blossomed, the seedlings poking out of the ground in a curl of green. Rose heard gasps as the plant reached its full maturity, two years of growth compressed into two minutes. A gentle breeze swirled around them, smelling of grass and sunlight. For a moment, the sun seemed to brighten.

The familiar lavender bell-shaped flowers bloomed, opening sweetly. They cupped their hands beneath a flower and were rewarded when matured seeds fell into their hands. The earth warmed beneath their feet ever so slightly, a ripple of magic radiating outwards in a wave, and some of the tension they’d been carrying with them since Samhain unwound. The grass was greener, the sky bluer, the breeze fresher. Carefully, reverently, they tucked their seeds away, some in pockets, others in specially made cloth bags.

It would’ve been lovely, had Rose been able to shake off her feeling of dread. She gazed at her peers, whose faces had relaxed for the first time in weeks, and tried to feel happy. They’d been allowed privacy, just this once, since they were in a large group. Madam Hooch still waited inside, though. The gloom overhanging the castle had left for the day – she was certain it was the magic of Ostara at work, since the overall atmosphere of Hogwarts hadn’t much changed recently. By all accounts, she ought to be reveling in this rare moment of peace and freedom.

She wasn’t. Rose hung back as everyone else made their way back to the castle – for all that it was March, the air still carried a chill.

Harry seemed to sense her mood. He stayed where he was, watching her look out over the lake. She went to his side, automatically reaching for his hand for comfort. He seemed tense.

“Everything alright?”

“I think I’m supposed to be asking you that,” Harry said quietly. His green eyes studied her.

“I’m just nervous,” she confessed. “I can’t help but feel like something’s going to happen today – Ostara seems like an auspicious day for a person to be reborn.”

(and things had been sped up, hadn’t they?)

Harry stared at her. “Are you _sure_ you’re not actually a Seer?”

Rose rolled her eyes. “Yes, I think I’d notice visions and prophecies, thanks. I don’t need to be a Seer to think about Ostara’s connotations, do I?”

“Let’s keep a closer eye on Malfoy, then,” Harry said decisively. Rose nodded uneasily, and they walked together back to the castle, the grass soft and green beneath their feet. The sun shone overhead, and birdsong drifted across the lawn.

They’d only just walked in, rejoining the tail end of their yeargroup and waving at Madam Hooch, when Professor McGonagall’s voice echoed through the corridors, magically magnified.

“All students please proceed to their House dormitories at once. All teachers proceed to the staffroom immediately.”

Harry and Rose looked at each other in horror, even as their peers glanced around in confusion.

“You don’t think – “

“It’s too early – “

“Come on,” Rose said insistently, casting a Notice-Me-Not on the both of them and slipping away. The spell didn’t work on people who were explicitly looking for them though, and she caught Susan’s eye apologetically.

“Wait – “ Susan began.

 _Four hours,_ Rose mouthed, holding up four fingers. _Please._

They ran before Susan could reply, turned the corner and pulled the invisibility cloak over them. They pressed themselves to the wall, holding their breath.

“Where are the Potter twins?” they heard Madam Hooch demand.

“Bathroom,” Susan said. “I think Rose was having an emergency, and Harry was worried… They said they’d be going to their dorms right after, though.”

“Ah,” Madam Hooch said, needing no more explanation. “I see. In that case…”

Her voice faded, as did the sound of footsteps, as the crowd moved away.

“Lockhart?” Harry whispered.

“Wait,” she whispered back. “First we should check – “

“Staffroom, then,” he finished. She nodded. Blood thrumming from the Ostara rites, heart pounding with anticipation, they headed to the staffroom on silent feet after casting _spongify_ on the soles of their shoes. The corridors were empty, all students having already returned to their dorms, and the silence of Hogwarts was eerie in the bright sunshine. They slid into the staffroom just behind Professor Sprout, carefully maneuvering their way next to the wardrobe she and Ron had hid in a lifetime ago. Madam Hooch and Professor Flitwick arrived, both looking nervous. Professor McGonagall came in and slammed the door shut.

“It has happened,” she told the silent staffroom. “A student has been taken by the monster.”

 _Right into the Chamber itself,_ Rose found herself mouthing. Her vision had gone double – half of her was under the invisibility cloak with Harry, the other half crammed in a musty old wardrobe with Ron. Harry gripped her hand tightly, a bastion of stability as she rode out the episode. When she came to, Professor McGonagall was still speaking.

“The Heir of Slytherin,” she said, “left another message. Right underneath the first one. _‘His skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever.’”_

“Who is it?” Madam Hooch asked, white-faced. “Which student?”

“One of mine,” Snap said lowly, face tense but eyes burning with fury. “Draco Malfoy.”

(Rose clung to that – Draco Malfoy, not Ginny Weasley. Draco Malfoy, not Ginny Weasley. Draco - )

“Mr. Malfoy?” Professor Sprout whispered in horrified disbelief. “But he’s a pureblood, and a Slytherin – “

“As was Cassius Warrington,” Snape ground out. “Clearly, the Heir no longer distinguishes based on blood or House.”

“We shall have to send all the students home tomorrow,” said Professor McGonagall. “This is the end of Hogwarts. Dumbledore always said…”

The door banged open. It was a bit like watching a play – she knew what was coming, had gone over events so often in her head that watching them play out in front of her was downright surreal. Lockhart strode in, beaming, and Rose had a moment of déjà vu.

“So sorry – dozed off – what have I missed?”

Snape’s face twisted with undisguised loathing, eyes shining with an unholy glee.

“Just the man,” he said, voice oozing honey. “The very man. A boy has been snatched by the monster. Taken into the Chamber of Secrets itself. Your moment has come at last.”

The very air seemed to hum with the combined pleasure of the rest of the professors as, one by one, each of them chipped in with another comment. Lockhart blanched and went steadily greyer, and Rose wished wistfully that she’d brought a camera.

“V-very well,” he stammered, lower lip trembling. “I’ll – I’ll be in my office, getting – getting ready.”

He left, leaving the door open behind him. Harry and Rose followed swiftly. She saw Snape’s nostrils flare as they passed him and he turned, but they were already in the corridor. They trailed Lockhart’s nervous, hurried footsteps in silence, blood pulsing with anticipation. The cloak hung about her like water made fabric, softer than silk. Her steps were rapid, firm, in control. She straightened, and exchanged an anticipatory grin with her brother.

Harry stepped out from the confines of the cloak around the corner from Lockhart’s office. They’d planned this – Rose would keep an eye on Lockhart’s wand while he spoke. Harry didn’t use his newly-learnt voice magic often, but he wasn’t above it.

He knocked on the door. It opened the tiniest crack and one of Lockhart’s blue eyes peered through it.”

“Oh – Mr. Potter – “ he said, opening the door a bit wider. “I’m rather busy at the moment – if you would be quick – “

“Not running away, are you?” Harry asked innocently. Now that she had forewarning Rose could sense the barest tendrils of his magic worming their way past her shields.

“N-no,” Lockhart stammered. “N-not at all, urgent call – unavoidable – got to go – “

“I rather like you, Professor Lockhart,” Harry said cheerfully in an outright lie. Truly, they just wanted to see the look on his face when his crimes were revealed. They couldn’t have him running away now – according to Sirius, his team of lawyers was almost finished putting together their case.

“Why, thank – “

“Which is why,” Harry continued happily as Lockhart opened the door fully, “I’m going to give you some free advice, from one famous person to another. Don’t be afraid to admit it when you don’t know something.”

“I’m afraid I’m not sure what – “

“For example,” Harry said lightly, “whenever someone asked _me_ why I hadn’t taken care of the monster in the Chamber of Secrets, I just tell them that I don’t know where the entrance is!”

A shrewd look had entered Lockhart’s eye. He smiled, but this one was understanding and almost predatory. Rose drew her wand.

“I see,” he murmured. “Thank you, Mr. Potter. And if, hypothetically, you’d already said you knew where the entrance was…?”

“Well,” Harry said, affecting thoughtfulness, “I suppose I’d just say that the entrance wasn’t where I thought it was.”

“Yes,” Lockhart said slowly. “Yes, brilliant. You’ve been a very great help, Mr. Potter.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Harry said humbly.

“But I’m afraid I can’t let you leave – “

 _“Expelliarmus,”_ she whispered. Her wand, aimed from just behind Harry’s left hand, sent a jet of red light from the end that hit Lockhart squarely in the chest. The force she’d put behind the spell sent him stumbling backwards, and Harry caught Lockhart's wand as it went flying from his hand.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t do that,” Harry said kindly, spinning Lockhart’s wand between his fingers. Lockhart was staring, agape, at the twelve-year-old whom he believed had just windlessly disarmed him from his non-wand hand. It was immensely satisfying, and Rose didn’t even try to stop her grin.

“I’ll leave this in the corridor outside,” Harry said, still spinning Lockhart’s wand. “Good day, Professor Lockhart.” He turned on his heel crisply and walked away. Rose, under the cloak, dodged around him and closed Lockhart’s office door.

They turned the corner before Rose threw the cloak over Harry’s head and they collapsed against the wall, bursting into breathless laughter, gasping as they tried to keep it silent.

“Did you see his _face – “_

“Oh, Merlin, I can’t wait to tell Sirius and Remus – “

They froze, looking at each other.

“Sirius and Remus.”

“They’re going to kill us.”

Somehow, through all of this, they’d never once told Sirius and Remus their plan. It was easy, at Hogwarts, to forget that they had guardians who loved them and cared for them, easy to forget about those same guardians when making reckless plans like this one. Rose knew they should call their guardians over the mirror and let them know, but…

“They’d try to stop us,” Harry said quietly.

“I know,” Rose whispered. They stared at each other. It would be one thing to barge onwards, giving Sirius and Remus barely a thought. It would be another thing entirely to acknowledge it, think about telling them, and keeping them in the dark anyway.

“We’ve got three and a half hours,” Rose said softly, checking her watch. Harry swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

“Five minutes,” he said at last. “Five minutes, we make them promise, and then – “

“Five minutes,” she agreed. They ducked into an abandoned classroom, kept the cloak over their heads, and Rose stood shoulder-to-shoulder with her twin as he pulled out his mirror. It was the same one he used to talk to her – Sirius and Remus had, in the past decade, figured out how to augment its capabilities.

“Sirius Black,” he said clearly. The mirror’s ornate silver filigree seemed to shine, the surface rippled, and Sirius’ worried face swam into view, Remus peering over his shoulder.

“Harry?” he said. “Rose? What is it?”

“We’re about to do something incredibly dangerous,” Harry said with no prelude. “It’s a gamble, but – “

“Absolutely not,” Sirius hissed, face going from worried to angry in an instant. _“Absolutely not – “_

“We’re not asking permission,” Rose said quietly, trying to gentle her tone. “I’m sorry, Sirius, but we’ve been planning and – “

“You didn’t tell us?” Sirius asked. Rose flinched at the betrayal in his tone, the hurt in his eyes. He looked like he’d been punched in the stomach. Remus, behind him, looked equally hurt. A _crucio_ would’ve been less painful.

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered. “We’re sorry. We – “ he winced, “we sort of forgot.”

 _“Forgot – “_ Sirius echoed in patented disbelief, eyes wide with incredulity.

“Yes,” Rose said. “We’re not lying, I’d swear on my magic if I had the magic to spare, but we’re running out of time and – “

“We’ll come back,” Harry finished. “We promise. We just – we just realized – “

“We’d kept you out of the loop,” Rose said quietly. “It was an accident, but once we realized, we couldn’t – “ she swallowed the lump in her throat, silently cursing herself; she hadn’t meant to get emotional.

“We’re sorry – “ Harry whispered. “Really, we are. I promise, we’ll explain everything after – “

“You better,” Remus said quietly. He put a quelling hand on Sirius’ shoulder. He seemed to have aged ten years. He stared at them with burning amber eyes rimmed with gold.

“This isn’t goodbye,” he said quietly.

“This isn’t goodbye,” Harry confirmed. “We’re coming back.”

Remus stared at them, hard. His face might’ve been carved from stone.

“You better.”

* * *

This jaunt into the Chamber served a number of purposes. One, it confirmed that the diadem had been possessing Draco Malfoy – they’d been afraid to search his things after Blaise had told them his suspicions, for fear it’d get its hooks into one of them. They hadn’t wanted to send it off to Sirius and Remus to be destroyed with Fiendfyre, for fear that it’d ensnare one of _them_ as well. True, the horcrux would grow stronger the longer it was in Malfoy’s hands, but its hold on the diadem would correspondingly grow weaker. They hoped that meant the compulsion would weaken as well.

Two, it would bolster their image in the eyes of Dumbledore. Rescuing a best friend’s sister was one thing – rescuing a schoolyard rival was another one entirely. They hadn’t exactly been unobtrusive this year, what with the Ritual Rooms and the Parseltongue and the blatant befriending of Slytherins, so they needed something to offset that.

There were a thousand other, lesser reasons – there were advantages to revealing Slytherin’s true stance on blood purity, to publicly saving Draco Malfoy beyond just Dumbledore’s goodwill, but those two reasons explained why they hadn’t acted earlier.

They had reasons for acting, Rose reminded herself firmly. Good ones.

(but that didn’t change the betrayal in Sirius’ eyes, the hurt in every line of Remus’ face)

“After,” Harry whispered, squeezing their hand. They stood at the entrance to Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. “After, we’ll explain.”

“After,” Rose echoed, and pushed open the door.

* * *

Voldemort was waiting for them. It was Voldemort as she remembered him from Dumbledore’s pensieve, the one who’d asked for the Defence position – not quite human, skin waxy and stretched oddly over the hollows of his cheeks, nose present but unnaturally blurred, hairline receding. The only difference was the eyes – they were a blazing red.

Rose focused on his nose. She _would not_ be making the same mistake as last time. Harry had run forwards, hand checking Malfoy’s pulse, while she lingered, cloaked and invisible. His shoes, un-softened, were loud on the stone floor. Her heart was beating thunderously in her ears, her palms slick with sweat, breath rapid with anticipation – and yet there was something comforting about being here, about the dim green light and steady _drip drip drip_ of water, something comforting about standing at the feet of her ancestor…

(two hundred years ago, Annabelle Gaunt had married Edward Evans. Sirius and Remus had hired a muggle investigator to dig into the Evans family tree years ago at Rose’s request, and that was what they’d found)

(it was a distant, tenuous connection… but it was more than anyone else had, save Voldemort)

“He won’t wake,” Voldemort said softly. Harry jumped to his feet, pulling out his wand and spinning to face him. Voldemort leaned against a nearby pillar, watching him with no small amount of curiosity, of something that looked remarkably like _hunger…_

“He’s alive,” Voldemort continued, “but only just.”

“I know,” Harry replied, equally soft. “Why draw me here, then? You knew I’d come.”

“I did,” Voldemort acknowledged. “Good, brave, Harry Potter… or, at least, that’s what you’d like the world to believe. You were a far more interesting host than your classmate over there… it was so _boring,_ having to cater to the needs of a common twelve-year-old boy. Young Draco’s so lonely, did you know? He wasn’t like you, he doesn’t want power, not really. All he wants are _friends,_ but he doesn’t know how to make them. It was so easy, whispering comforting things in his ear. You should’ve heard how jealous he was of you… you, with your sister and friends and family.”

“Jealous?” Harry repeated dumbly. He was going off-script, Rose realized, trying to tamp down on her horror. But that was understandable – expected, even. As long as Voldemort stuck to the –

“Yes,” Voldemort said dismissively. “But that doesn’t matter anymore, does it? He’ll be dead soon, and I…”

“And you?” Harry asked pointedly. Voldemort smiled, slowly, cruelly.

“Well,” he murmured. “That’s where you come in, Harry Potter. I’d like to make an offer, horcrux to horcrux.”

 _What?_ Rose stood rooted to the ground in shock – this wasn’t what they’d expected. They’d expected an attack, some monologuing, perhaps some digging for information – but an _offer?_ And Voldemort – diadem-Voldemort knew that Harry knew he was a horcrux? Exactly how much had he been privy to, during his possession of Harry?

“Go on, then,” Harry said. Rose gripped her wand, wondering if she should just hit Voldemort with a _diffindo_ and be done with it. But –

 _(trust him,_ Luna’s voice whispered)

 _(don’t trust me so blindly,_ Harry’s voice begged)

Her brother or her friend? Harry was perceptive, self-aware – he knew what he was talking about, surely? But Luna knew things, things that couldn’t be explained…

She sent a pulse of worry Harry’s way and saw him straighten, firming his stance. To trust, or not to trust?

Voldemort smiled, red eyes gleaming. Rose gripped her wand, but stayed her hand. If she attacked Voldemort, she’d be attacking for herself, not Harry. Harry didn’t want her help right now. He was in character. He wasn’t acting oddly.

She would trust him.

“I,” Voldemort said, “am the fifth horcrux that the master soul of Lord Voldemort made.”

 _Five,_ Rose thought. _A number of curiosity and freedom. Trapped in a diadem for forty years._ Horror was dawning in her, mixed with pity. Trapped in a diadem, trapped in darkness and silence, with no outside stimuli. It’d be torture for any amount of time, let alone _forty years._

“My master soul was foolish,” Voldemort went on. “He no longer deserves that mantle. Allow me to possess you, Harry, and extract the soul shard from your scar. I will merge with the remaining horcruxes and kill the wraith, _becoming_ the master soul, and continue the work that you and your sister so cleverly started.”

Harry was tempted. So was she – they’d fought so hard for their few small victories. How much could this soul shard teach them? How much had it taught Harry already? Was it not he who’d brought back the Ritual Rooms, leveraging Harry’s fame and popularity? How easy, how incredibly easy would it be to –

“If you wanted me to agree with you,” Harry hissed, “you shouldn’t have taught me that trick.”

Rose blinked. What trick? Voldemort made perfect sense, she didn’t know why she’d ever opposed him –

A pulse of foreign rage.

Harry.

_What?_

The world shifted, and Rose breathed.

Had she really been wondering why she’d opposed Voldemort? The man advocated _genocide._ It didn’t matter that he wasn’t a fervent believer – he enabled those who were, and that was just as bad. Rose would do a great deal for power, but she would _never_ condone genocide.

(she was willing to kill and maim and torture, but she drew the line at that)

(Justin. Hermione. Her mother. Muggleborns, all of them, and people Voldemort would see – had already seen – dead)

Voldemort laughed.

“You are too clever by half,” he said amusedly. “Very well – what is it that you say? Carrot and stick? Here is the stick, then: allow me to possess you, or I will kill you.”

 _Allow_ Voldemort to possess Harry? That was interesting – he was clearly capable of doing it _without_ Harry’s consent, but the fact that he’d specified it meant that withholding it would cause him difficulty. Was that why he’d switched, from Harry to Malfoy? Because of Harry’s strength of will?

To fully merge with Harry’s horcrux, to remove it in a way without killing him…

(this – _this –_ death threats and laughter and a slender wand spinning around equally slender fingers – _this_ was what they’d expected)

“You’d destroy your own horcrux?” Harry asked boldly.

(but _would_ Harry be alive at the end of it? His soul had grown around the horcrux; surely an extraction would not be consequence-free?)

(Rose wasn’t willing to take that risk)

“If its vessel became a threat?” Voldemort asked rhetorically. “In an instant.”

 _Liar,_ Rose thought. Voldemort was the most possessive man she knew – he’d never –

But wasn’t he talking about killing part of himself already, in killing the wraith?

She didn’t doubt that he wanted to possess Harry. She’d seen what Harry could do, with the slightest of Voldemort’s nudgings. What would _Voldemort himself_ be able to do, in Harry’s body, possessing him willingly? With all of Harry’s fame and reputation at his fingertips, trusted by the Progressives… it was an awe-inspiring thought. He could probably accomplish all their goals in a year – getting rid of Binns, adding electives, implementing a mandatory Wixen Culture class…

But she would lose her brother.

It didn’t matter that it’d only be temporary – she’d seen how Harry had reacted to his lost memories. To _willingly_ give up his own autonomy, his own _body?_ What would that do to her brother? And what if Harry died, like Malfoy was dying, at this very moment?

 _No_ , she decided. It was a denial stemming from her very soul: she _would not_ lose Harry. She –

“And you’ll spare Rose?” Harry asked. Rose stared at him in horror and opened her mouth to protest, but –

She’d chosen to trust, hadn’t she?

(she sent frantic pulses of panic and denial his way through their bond, but Harry held firm)

She’d chosen to trust, but _this –_ how could she let him – 

_No no no no nonono –_

_(not Harry)_

_(please not Harry)_

_(I’ll do anything)_

**_(trust him)_ **

“Yes,” Voldemort said. His crimson eyes glowed with triumph. Rose twitched, but held firm. “The backlash from the twin bond might kill you too, after all. I am no fool – I won’t kill either of you unless I want you both dead.”

(Harry had a plan. She just needed to wait for his signal)

(anything else was inconceivable)

“Fine,” Harry said, lifting his chin. He looked at Voldemort and walked forwards, wand held loosely at his side. Six feet away, he stumbled, and she saw him mouth something in the resulting clatter.

_Fawkes._

There was an explosion of flame behind Voldemort and Harry lunged the instant he saw it, bowling into Voldemort’s legs and sending them both crashing to the ground in a tangle of limbs. Fawkes appeared, dropping the Sorting Hat, and dove just as Voldemort threw Harry off him with a scream of rage. Harry caught Voldemort with a solid bone-breaker to the torso and she heard a _crack_ as his ribs broke, Voldemort letting out a cry of pain. The horcrux responded with an _avada kedavra_ that only narrowly missed her brother, and **Rose. Saw. Red.**

 _“Avada kedavra!”_ she snarled, throwing off the cloak. She was going to give him another target, draw attention away from her brother –

A jet of bright green light bloomed from the end of her wand.

(her magic _sang)_

Voldemort summoned a piece of stone into its path and it splashed harmlessly against the rock, but it was automatic – Rose felt a split second of satisfaction as Voldemort gaped at her before his face turned occlumency-smooth again. He sent another killing curse at Fawkes, the phoenix, diving out of the way, and fought the three of them at once. The air exploded with spells, defingering curses and blood-boiling curses and cutting curses. She heard Harry’s right arm shatter and heard the sound his wand made as it fell, saw the blood-boiling curse miss Harry by _inches_ and she screamed.

 _“Avada kedavra!”_ she cried, aiming for the diadem this time, but the green was light and sickly and she stumbled out of the way of a purple jet of light, straight into the path of –

 ** _Pain._** Pain beyond anything she’d ever felt – worse than basilisk venom, worse than dying –

_(quicker and easier than falling asleep)_

Her bones were liquifying within her, her muscles bubbling with heat, her very skin ripping and rending and tearing itself apart –

A scream of pain. Rose, still trembling from the aftereffects of the Cruciatus, cracked open her eyes to find herself facedown on the ground.

_Move._

Limbs shaking, muscles spasming, she pushed herself to her hands and knees and looked up at her savior. Fawkes swooped and dove, talons dripping with blood. Three long gashes split Voldemort’s face open – she saw the white of bone as he ducked and dodged the phoenix. Harry was on the ground feet away from her, shaking. He dove for the Sorting Hat, ignoring his wand, as Voldemort hissed in rage.

_$Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of Hogwarts’ four$_

The grind of stone. The scraping of scale.

Voldemort laughed. It was edged with a madness that Rose knew all too well. Fawkes reared back, disappearing in an explosion of flame and reappearing at Slytherin’s statue as the mouth opened and the light of the Chamber hit poisonous green.

“Let’s see how you fare against Slytherin’s monster,” he snarled, blood dripping onto the ground. “And his heir.”

_$Kill them$_

* * *

Rose dove out of the way of a blood-boiling curse, keeping her eyes on Voldemort. She could hear the basilisk – _Selena_ – behind her, hissing in confusion.

_$But they are students, Master, I don’t understand - $_

_$He’s not your master, he’s just a shadow, a piece of his former self - $_

_$Fawkes? What – why are you - $_

_$Master, it hurts - $_

**_$He’s not your master$_ **

It tore at Rose’s heart, but she blocked it out, the noise becoming a distant murmur against her ears. Harry was wandless, but he had Fawkes and the plan. He’d be fine.

(she needed to take care of Voldemort)

Rose ran for him, zig-zagging her way, dodging _avada kedavra_ ’s and _crucio_ ’s and an entrail-expelling curse. She cast the Killing Curse again, feeling the chunk it took out of her magical core. She was running and dodging, always moving, always changing directions - Voldemort had blood running into his eyes and claw marks on his face and he snarled at the blood dripping down his chin. Her acid green spell clipped his wand arm and he spasmed, his entire form flickering in and out of existence, Harry’s wand falling through his fingers. Rose laughed and cast the Unforgiveable again, feeling her magic sing as she sacrificed a portion of it. It would replenish, but now she teetered on the edge of magical exhaustion. She felt blood dribble from her nose and tasted it on her tongue as she laughed and laughed and _laughed_.

_(goodbye, you brother-killing fuck)_

Voldemort disappeared when it hit him, Malfoy’s wand falling and rolling on the ground. Rose waited a single heartbeat to see if he’d return, but when the air stayed clear, she ran for Harry’s wand and scooped it up. She heard Selena scream in pain.

“Can I turn around?” she called.

“Go ahead!” Harry yelled back, his voice strained. She spun on her heel and took in the scene at a glance.

Harry had the sword, but he was sheltering behind a pillar and dodging out of the way. Selena, eyes clawed out by Fawkes, was screaming and writhing and –

 _$Impedimenta!$_ Rose screamed, pouring every last drop of magic she could muster into the spell. She felt the vast majority of her core vanish and fell to her hands and knees, cracking her bone against the stone floor, but her spell struck Selena and the basilisk froze, mouth open, as Harry took his chance. Blood poured from her nose and eyes, and she frantically tried to stem the flow as she breathed.

“Thanks,” Harry called. “I – maybe I should try again – “

“It’s no use,” a voice said mournfully. The Sorting Hat, lying abandoned behind a pillar. One of them had kicked it. “She’s quite mad. Put her out of her misery, Harry Potter, and Hogwarts will thank you for it.”

“But – “ Harry sounded near-tears. “But she must know so much – “

“She killed Myrtle Warren,” the Sorting Hat said. “She’s been mad ever since. If you’d lived fifty years ago, then perhaps, but…”

Fawkes gave a sad chirp.

She didn’t watch as Harry killed Selena – she couldn’t. Already, just being in the Chamber had memories pressing insistently against her occlumency shields.

 _(she won’t wake,_ sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle whispered as Rose leaned over a girl with ginger hair)

(a bright, burning pain in her left arm, she could feel it spreading through her body, her vision was darkening, she heard someone laugh - )

(but she was the one laughing, this time)

(and that made all the difference)

Rose focused on Malfoy, laying in a crumpled heap at Slytherin’s feet, the blond of his hair helping her fight against her memories. She focused on the blood on her face, on pressing a rapidly soaking handkerchief to her nose. Everything else – everything else was too familiar. When the flow of blood slowed, she walked over to Malfoy and noticed he was breathing. She felt a small flicker of relief; she didn’t like him - he was a snob and a bigot - but she had never wanted him dead.

(she had seen too many people die to want him dead)

There were no visible wounds, so all she did was wait, tucking the bloodied handkerchief in her pocket and reaching for a fresh one. Her hands were trembling with exhaustion. She turned as she heard Harry approach, Fawkes on his shoulder. She tried to send him a smile, but her face refused to move.

When Harry stabbed Gryffindor’s sword into the diadem, Rose watched as –

(she stabbed a fang into the diary and watched as - )

Voldemort’s body crumbled into ash. There was another drawn-out shriek, and Rose thought in a fit of hysteria that it was getting rather familiar at this point. There was something else in the ash though, something –

_(hello, Rose Potter, my name is Tom Riddle)_

_(she won’t wake)_

_(I am Lord Voldemort)_

She glanced away, steeled herself, and looked back at the replica diary. Her vision swam with exhaustion, and she could feel the slight warmth from their twin bond that indicated Harry was giving her some of his magic. “I suppose he meant to use it as a cover, if he possessed you,” she said. She heard her voice as if from a distance.

“Be a shame to let it go to waste,” Harry said casually. He reached down and picked up the Sword of Gryffindor, grinning mischievously.

“It must’ve been commissioned, seeing as it didn’t crumble like the rest of him. An exact replica,” Rose agreed. They shared a look, and Rose wondered whether this was what the Weasley twins felt like when they planned a prank.

(deep within the Chamber, something moved)


	27. Year 2, Part 14

Harry and Rose were hashing out the finer details of their story when Malfoy woke up. Rose had taken an Invigoration Draft to help her power through her magical exhaustion, given one to Harry for his general exhaustion, healed Harry’s wand arm, and stemmed the flow of blood from her nose with a handkerchief. She didn’t have enough magic to vanish a quill at the moment.

“Malfoy,” Rose greeted quietly. She went over to him and knelt, offering a goblet of water Harry had conjured for her. “How are you feeling?”

Malfoy took the goblet and sipped at it with trembling hands.

“Awful,” he croaked. “What… what happened? Where are we?”

“We’re in the Chamber of Secrets,” she said. “How much do you remember?”

He frowned, then blanched. “Oh, Merlin, it was me, wasn’t it? _I_ opened the Chamber.” He looked horrified, sick. Rose felt a pang of pity that she refused to allow on her face. He wouldn't appreciate it.

“Only the once, in February,” Rose said gently. Honestly, she was a little surprised he’d caught on so quickly. “It wasn’t your fault – it was the diadem, wasn’t it?”

“It… it felt like my friend,” Malfoy mumbled unthinkingly, before turning a vivid red when he remembered whom he was speaking to. Harry made his way over and gave a sad little smile.

“Yeah, felt like that for me, too,” he lied. “Listen, Malfoy… I don’t really want the school knowing about the diadem,” Harry confessed, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s a bit… well, it’s a bit embarrassing, isn’t it, to be tricked by a crown?”

Malfoy, eyeing Harry warily, relaxed slightly at the show of vulnerability. He gave a slight nod but wouldn’t meet any of their eyes. His face was still suffused with a bright flush.

“Which is why,” Harry continued, voice soft and velvety, intertwined with the barest hint of magic, “I’d really, really appreciate if you’d go along with what Rose and I came up with. We’ll be pinning it all on this diary, y’see, it belonged to You-Know-Who…” This was the plan – win Malfoy over with kindness and empathy, so that he’d go along with their story. Become partners in crime, because Voldemort had said how much Malfoy’d longed for friends.

(everyone was a tool until they became a friend)

“Well, you did just save my life,” Malfoy said, lips twitching in a facsimile of a smile. It was the closest thing to humble she’d ever seen the other boy.

(Rose had always wondered what might’ve happened had she been less combative that day a lifetime ago, when Malfoy had offered her his hand)

(she remembered the boy who’s only friend had been a ghost, the boy who’d lied to Bellatrix Lestrange, the boy who’d run during the Final Battle, and wondered if she could change that)

* * *

(Malfoy didn't know the diadem had held Voldemort's memories - soul - whatever. He was in their debt, vulnerable, and Harry's voice magic was truly insidious)

* * *

Fawkes fire-travelled them directly to Dumbledore’s office which, as it’d also held Professors McGonagall; Snape; and Sprout; Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy; and Sirius and Remus in addition to the Headmaster, led to a great deal of mayhem. It took several firecrackers from Dumbledore before everyone quieted enough to hear Harry and Rose wove a hybrid story of the truth and Rose’s past. Harry dumped the diary on Dumbledore’s desk with hole burned straight through the middle, still dripping ink, though he kept hold of Gryffindor’s Sword. Rose took pleasure in the pallor of Lucius Malfoy’s face when he saw it.

(it was still nerve-wracking, staring at Dumbledore’s familiar half-moon glasses)

They put all the blame on the diary, saying that Malfoy had found it in his bag in October and had been writing in it ever since. He’d been possessed by Voldemort’s memories – it hadn’t been his fault at all, really. Harry, Rose, and their friends had been looking into the Chamber’s history, finding out that Hagrid had been blamed for it last time by Tom Riddle. After coming across his photograph in an old copy of the Prophet, Rose had realized he’d looked remarkably like Voldemort.

“I remember that night,” she said quietly, staring down at her hands. Harry pressed his shoulder against hers in silent solidarity. The rest of the story might’ve been a lie, but this was the truth. “I remember… I recognized him.”

“He’s a half-blood, apparently,” Rose added helpfully, taking great pleasure in the looks of shock on everyone’s (save Dumbledore’s) face. Curiously, Lucius Malfoy’s expression of shock came on just a microsecond after everyone else’s. She supposed it made sense – surely his father would’ve gone to school with Tom Riddle? “His real name, Tom Marvolo Riddle, is an anagram of ‘I am Lord Voldemort’. He confirmed it for us, down in the Chamber.”

“A bit uncreative,” Harry agreed, still holding the sword at his side.

There was additional pandemonium when it was revealed to be Godric Gryffindor’s sword. When Dumbledore said, “Only a true Gryffindor could’ve gotten that out of the Hat,” the Sorting Hat, back on its shelf, gave a derisive snort.

“Bollocks!” it cried, seeming to smirk at the shock this elicited. “It was the only thing that could kill the basilisk – Salazar bred Selena specially to protect the school, not rid it of muggleborns or whatever rubbish you idiots came up with.” Rose held back a giggle at the look on Lucius Malfoy’s face. She wasn’t sure whether it was from being called an idiot by a talking hat or because everything he’d believed about Slytherin was wrong.

“Selena and Fawkes were meant to be guardians of the school!” the Hat continued. “But she’d gone mad, so I would’ve given that sword to whoever would be kind enough to put the old girl down. It was a failsafe Fawkes would authorize if needed.”

Fawkes gave a mournful warble, effectively confirming the Hat’s story. Rose reached out a hesitant hand to pet him and was delighted when he pressed his head gently against her hand. He peered up at her with those deep amber eyes, and Rose knew he wouldn’t tell.

(Ostara was truly a powerful day for rebirth)

“Why didn’t you say anything earlier?” Snape demanded, anger lining his face.

“No one asked,” the Sorting Hat said derisively. “I’m meant to Sort, not teach history.”

“Anyway,” Harry said loudly. “The Prophet said that the girl who’d died had died in a bathroom, and that her name was Myrtle Warren, so – “

“Of course,” Remus murmured. “Moaning Myrtle.”

“Exactly,” Harry nodded. “There wasn’t any time to get a professor, and we weren’t sure if they’d believe us anyways, so we just…”

“You took it upon yourselves, in your arrogance, to face down a shade of the Dark Lord and a thousand-year-old basilisk,” Snape said icily. Harry winced, but Narcissa bristled.

“Severus!” she snapped. “They just saved my son’s life – I won’t hear a single word said against them!” Lucius grimaced, but didn’t disagree.

(slowly, a plan began to form)

Eventually, someone noticed their general weariness, and the three of them were shooed to the Hospital Wing. The moment they left Dumbledore’s office, Rose was attacked by a blur of blue.

 _$You bottom-feeding, frog-brained mouse spawn!$_ Macha hissed angrily, wrapping herself around and around Rose’s wrist. _$You have been in danger far more than any hatchling ought to be! Shame on your nest-parents for allowing this!$_ The occamy gave a vicious hiss at Sirius and Remus, who both paled even further.

 _$It’s not their fault$_ Rose soothed. She glanced at her guardians apologetically. “Sorry, she’s angry at you for letting me be in danger.”

“I’m rather angry at us too,” Sirius agreed in a dark voice. “We are definitely going to transfer you to Beauxbatons, I don’t trust Karkaroff – “

“Perhaps a discussion for another time,” Dumbledore interrupted.

Rose pretended not to notice the half-awed, half-terrified looks the Malfoys gave her, allowing Macha’s fussing with equanimity. Rose linked her arm with Harry’s, and Macha seemed to enjoy twining herself around their elbows, eventually settling herself around Rose’s shoulders. She was twice the length she’d been last year, the magically-dense air of Hogwarts accelerating her growth.

(she was still only two feet long, but still)

 _$Why is the pale boy watching me?$_ Macha hissed. _$I remember his blood, Red One. Can I have more?$_

 _$He’s not a threat$_ Rose assured her. _$He’s just…$_ she glanced back at Malfoy, who took on a deer-in-the-headlights look.

“She’s wondering why you’re looking at her,” Rose told him. He looked at her, and the spark of childish wonder in his eyes reminded her forcibly of Theo.

“Tell her she’s lovely,” Malfoy said quietly. He’d been subdued ever since he’d woken. Rose was impressed at his composure – Macha had once drank his blood, after all, and yet he was still able to admire her.

She ignored the voice inside her calling him brave.

“She understands English,” Rose replied. She noticed her tone softening and cursed herself for it. “Tell her yourself.”

Malfoy seemed emboldened by the implicit invitation. “You’re magnificent,” he told Macha honestly.

Rose watched him, making note of how small he was, how he looked at her familiar, how his parents looked at _him,_ and –

“Would you like to hold her?” she asked, pretending not to notice the way Lucius and Narcissa’s eyes snapped to them. She focused solely on the spark of life returning to Malfoy’s eyes and suspected they were, too.

Malfoy’s eyes widened. “May I?”

Rose grinned at Macha, whom she could sense practically radiating reticence.

 _$Please?$_ she hissed. _$I’ve hatched a new scheme, don’t hurt him$_

She saw Harry stifle a grin. Macha made an annoyed sound and, hitting Rose with her wings, glided to Malfoy and wrapped herself around his wrist.

“She might even let you pet her,” Rose encouraged, sending a meaningful look at Macha. The annoyance ebbed from the bond though, as Malfoy ran careful fingers down Macha’s back. Rose turned back, catching Sirius’ incredulous look. She beamed at him and he rolled his eyes.

“You know,” he grumbled, falling back a little to squish between herself and Harry. “When I told you I didn’t care what you did as long as you were safe and happy, it wasn’t an invitation to hunt down XXXXX creatures.” He slung an arm around each of their shoulders, seeming calm, but Rose remembered the tear tracks on his face when she’d first seen him.

(she remembered the betrayal on his face)

“I suppose that means we’d better postpone our expedition into the Forest,” Rose sighed.

Harry affected a sad expression. “Aragog will understand, surely.”

“Can acromantulas understand parental worry?” Rose wondered aloud.

“Hilarious,” Sirius muttered. “Really funny, you two.”

Rose and Harry grinned at each other.

“We love you too, Sirius,” they chorused in unison.

“And you as well, Remus!” Rose piped up, grabbing Remus’ hand and swinging it merrily. She beamed at his exasperated look.

“Nothing fazes you, does it?”

“Only Professor Snape’s face on a Lockhart-ified Valentine’s Day!”

“Potter!” Snape snapped, sending her a glare.

Rose grinned at his expression and saw his eye twitch. “It was the most terrifying I’ve ever seen you, Professor!”

“Still can’t believe Sniv – “

“Don’t call him that,” Rose said, frowning disapprovingly. “He’s the youngest Potions Master in a century, you ought to show him some respect.” She practically _heard_ several people stiffen in shock. The only sign of it in Snape was a slight tensing of his shoulders.

“I’m not asking you to be friends with him,” she added. “Just don’t call him names. Can’t be that difficult for such an incredible person like you, Uncle Siri!”

She stared at him with big, pleading green eyes. On Sirius’ other side, Harry snickered. Sirius slumped a bit in acquiescence.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “No name-calling.”

“Thanks, Paddy!” she chirped. “You’re the best godfather ever!” She and Harry giggled at his grouching.

(if they were playing up the banter, the childishness, to reassure their guardians, none of them said anything about it)

* * *

Even though none of them were injured anymore, Madam Pomphrey still kept them all overnight ‘for observation.’ Rose supposed she understood, for all she was annoyed. Magical exhaustion could be dangerous if she pushed herself, after all. She and Harry grinned at Madam Pomphrey’s enlarged hospital bed – she’d gotten used to their twin quirks, it seemed.

(Madam Pomphrey had shrieked when she’d discovered the blood-soaked handkerchiefs in her pocket.

“You should have come here _immediately!”_ she’d cried. “Not stayed in the Headmaster’s office for hours, _talking!”_ )

* * *

The moment the privacy curtains were drawn, Sirius and Remus crushed them into an enormous hug. Rose melted into it and could feel Harry doing the same next to her. They’d both come terrifyingly close to death in the Chamber, and this – the smell of Remus’ tea blend on Sirius’ collar, the smallness she felt in comparison – this felt like coming home.

(the _avada kedavra’s,_ the blood-boiling curses, Selena… diadem-Voldemort had been far more deadly than diary-Voldemort, and they’d underestimated him)

“Don’t ever keep us out of the loop like that again,” Sirius said hoarsely. “That… that was the most _awful…”_

“We thought you’d died,” Remus said softly, tucking Rose’s head under his chin. They stayed like that for several minutes; she felt him shake as he held back sobs. “When we heard you’d gone after Malfoy…”

“And about that,” Sirius snapped, pulling back, fear and worry turning into anger in an instant. “Why would you risk your lives for _Malfoy,_ of all people?”

“Privacy wards,” Rose mumbled into Remus’ chest. She heard Sirius murmuring the spells under his breath, felt the weight of the temporary wards as they settled over the small area, and gently tugged herself out of Remus’ hug. Remus released her reluctantly, running a hand through her hair before pulling away.

She and Harry came clean about everything, from Harry’s returned memories to their talk with their friends.

“It chose Malfoy,” Sirius muttered. “Really? When it was his father who…”

“The irony is palpable,” Harry agreed. “To be fair,

In the end, it took an hour, and Madam Pomphrey had given up trying to shoo them away after the fifth time. Remus sighed, and Sirius ran a hand through his hair.

“Right,” he said. “Grounded – both of you. For the entire summer.” Next to him, Remus frowned slightly, looking torn, brow furrowed. 

“But – “ Harry and Rose began.

“No,” Sirius said firmly. “Both of you – you should have _told us,”_ he emphasized. “You should’ve told us about the diadem, about Malfoy – “ his voice broke. _“Do you have any idea what it was like?”_ he asked, gripping his hair with both hands, looking half-mad. “We thought you’d died, we thought – we thought we’d lost you,” Sirius said haggardly. Rose remembered, with a pang, how much they meant to him. They were everything that remained of his best friends, yes, but he’d raised them and loved them in their own right. “And we had no idea why.”

This sounded familiar. From the way Harry tensed next to her, he remembered too.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. Harry murmured his own apology. “I don’t know why we didn’t…”

“I think we just… forgot,” Harry said guiltily.

“Hogwarts is so isolated,” Rose added. “And the mirrors only used for emergencies, and everything happened so slowly, and letters…”

“Letters seemed too insecure,” Remus finished with a sigh. “And everything happened so slowly that it didn’t feel like an emergency. Fine, I suppose I understand, but that doesn’t excuse the fact that you kept us in the dark.”

“I know,” Rose said miserably. “I’m sorry.”

A pause. She and Harry had never been grounded before.

“So…” Rose began tentatively. “How does this work, exactly? I suppose I won’t be allowed to go to Blaise’s birthday party?”

“Samantha was going to invite us over,” Harry frowned. “You remember, Samantha Page, from your Runes OWL? I suppose I’ll have to decline.”

“No Diagon Alley visits, then?”

They looked at each other in confusion. Remus glanced at them, then moved his gaze to Sirius, looking conflicted.

“Sirius – “ he began, before glancing back at Harry and Rose and throwing up a simple one-way silencing ward. They watched the two argue in polite befuddlement. They hadn’t been trying to get out of the punishment – both of them knew they deserved it, after all, for all the worry they’d caused.

(if she was being really, truly, one-hundred-percent honest… it was nice, to have a parental figure worry over her. She knew Sirius and Remus weren’t trying to replace their parents, but she wondered, secretly, if this was what it would’ve been like)

A few minutes later, the ward went down. Sirius looked resigned; Remus, pleased.

“Right,” Remus said, leaning forward and propping his elbows on his knees. “This is how it’s going to work. You’re not grounded this summer, but – “ he added, louder, as Harry and Rose gave him surprised looks, “starting next year, you’ll be calling us together over the mirror at least once a week from the Room of Requirement.”

“Alright,” Harry said.

“Deal,” Rose said. They wouldn’t argue their punishment, but they certainly wouldn’t complain if it was changed into… whatever this not-punishment was. It really had been an honest mistake, after all.

They grinned at each other, then at their guardians. “Thanks, Sirius, Remus!”

“Thank Remus,” Sirius sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It was his idea – said ‘preventive measures are more effective than punitive,’ whatever that means.”

Remus looked smug. “Muggle psychologists have some very interesting theories.”

They chatted, then, for a few hours, catching up on everything they hadn’t been able to or forgotten to put in letters. Madam Pomphrey tried to get them to rest, but Rose and Harry were still hopped up on Invigoration Draft and they argued her down. Remus called Penny to bring over some tea, and they all laughed uproariously when Harry and Rose told them about the wandless magic prank they’d pulled on Lockhart.

“James would be so proud,” Sirius sighed, miming wiping a tear from his eye.

“Lily would be, too,” Remus snickered. “Merlin, she would’ve murdered him for the Cornish pixie stunt alone.” Macha, curled around her wrist, preened.

Night was falling by the time Sirius and Remus flooed home. It was hard to believe all that had happened over the course of a single day. It was, somehow, still Ostara – the entire thing had not only taken place during the day, but during a _single_ day.

* * *

(they’d also had a very odd talk with Malfoy; he’d visited right after Sirius and Remus had been convinced to leave)

* * *

“Potter?” Malfoy asked hesitantly, tugging at the privacy curtain. Rose blinked at his voice, then turned to Harry. Harry made a face and shrugged.

“Come in,” she said.

Malfoy shuffled in, leaving the curtain open. Macha, curled in her usual place around Rose’s wrist, looked up in interest. He looked diminished. There was a flicker of surprise when he saw her brother, and then an odd emotion crossed his face and he glanced away for an instant before looking back at her. Rose met his gaze, head tilted curiously.

_(you should’ve seen how jealous he was of you… you, with your sister and friends and family)_

A week ago, she would’ve bristled at his presence. But a week ago, she hadn’t had to do…

 _(I’m tired of death,_ she’d once whispered)

 _(are you sure?_ Quirrell’s body asked)

 _(are you sure?_ Ravenclaw’s diadem asked)

Now, she was just tired.

(between both her lives, she’d cast all three Unforgiveables, now)

(she didn’t know how to feel about that)

“Go on, Malfoy,” she said, not bothering to temper her words. “I’d like to go back to sleep.”

(no, that was a lie)

He flushed. “Sorry – I just – I wanted to thank you,” he said. “For – for saving my life. I owe you.”

(she didn’t feel bad at all)

“A Life Debt?” Rose said shrewdly.

(even though she should’ve)

Malfoy grimaced. “I – yes. The Ancient and Noble – I mean, Noble and Ancient – “

There was an exasperated sigh. Lucius Malfoy pushed the privacy curtain open the rest of the way with his cane, revealing himself and his wife.

“What my son is trying to say,” he began, casting a look in Malfoy’s direction that was almost _fond_ , “is that the Noble House of Malfoy owes you both, Harry and Rose Potter, a debt of great value for saving the life of our heir.”

Rose watched him carefully. Tiredness gone, she sat up, ignoring Harry’s concerned look. She dipped her head formally. “I accept your debt, Lord Malfoy,” she said. “And, perhaps, may I suggest a way to fulfill it?”

If Lucius Malfoy was shocked, he didn’t show it. “Of course,” he said.

Rose straightened, lifting her chin. “I believe, Lord Malfoy, that you are on the Hogwarts Board of Governors.”

An arched eyebrow. It wasn’t a question, but he answered anyway. “I am.”

“If my godfather, Lord Sirius Black, were to propose a mandatory Wixen Customs and Traditions book to be added to the booklist for muggle-raised students, would you support this venture?”

“I would,” he said slowly. “Though I warn you, Miss Potter, we have pushed the issue for decades to no avail.”

“Have you ever supported it with _every_ resource at your disposal, within reason?”

Lucius Malfoy’s eyes were cutting. Rose met his gaze firmly, reinforcing her occlumency barriers.

“I have not.”

“Then, to fulfil your debt, I ask that the Houses of Malfoy and Black work together as we once did. I ask that you, Lord Lucius Malfoy, use every resource you have at your disposal, within reason, to encourage the integration of muggleborns into our society, so that they might learn and understand our traditions. So mote it be.”

“So mote it be,” he echoed. He studied her, and a slow smile began to curl his lips. “I think, Miss Potter, that you would have done very well in Slytherin.”

Rose grinned at him, shark-like, and saw Narcissa, standing next to her husband, hide a smile. “I do hope you’re not asking for the details of my Sorting, my lord.”

(her eyes flicked briefly to Narcissa – _I see you,_ she tried to communicate. _I might be speaking with your husband, but I see you too)_

“Perish the thought,” he replied, but the corner of his mouth twitched upwards. “However, I find myself unsatisfied. A mere addition to the booklist, no matter how necessary, does not seem sufficient to fully fulfill my debt, especially as it aligns with my own goals. Furthermore, there is an additional debt owed to your brother. If there are any other requests either you would like to make of my House, feel free to write me directly.”

(Lucius was a slippery politician, but Narcissa was Andromeda’s sister, a daughter of the House of Black)

“Thank you, Lord Malfoy,” she said. “I accept, with the hope that we might one day unite again on a joint prospect.”

(Narcissa was more than just a trophy wife)

“A noble goal,” he replied. “And one I believe likely.” He glanced at his son, who was badly concealing his shock. “Draco, come,” he said imperiously, before looking back at her and dipping his head. “Miss Potter. Mr. Potter. I shall take my leave.”

“Goodbye,” Narcissa added, her voice soft. “And thank you, for saving our son.”

“Farewell, Lord Malfoy, Lady Malfoy” she and Harry said, though her voice was considerably steadier. The moment the curtain had fluttered closed and the silencing charms took effect, Harry rounded on her.

“What the _hell_ was that?!”

Rose grinned at him. “That, darling brother, was me forging an alliance with Lord Malfoy.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Well, obviously, I’m not an idiot. But – but – ‘you would have done well in Slytherin’? ‘I do hope you’re not asking for the details of my Sorting’?”

Rose pulled a face and opened her mouth to speak before pausing. _$To be fair, he started it$_

Harry quirked an eyebrow. _$Afraid of listening charms?$_

_$Always$_

Harry rolled his eyes. _$Fine, fine, now continue.$_

 _$Yes, my lord$_ she mocked. _$I want him to see us as a potentially powerful ally. Even though I’m not of-age, he knows I have a lot of influence over Sirius. When Voldemort comes back, I want Malfoy to think twice before trying to kill us. Maybe I can convince him to stay out of it$_

He frowned in concern. _$I just don’t want you to accidentally become a blood purist or something. You tend to have a soft spot for Slytherins$_

Ouch. That… was a little too true. She mustered up a smile. _$I know. I – I’m trying to work on it. I’ll talk it out with Andromeda$_ she assured him.

_$Alright – you know I’m not – I’m just worried about you$_

_$I know$_ she hissed.

“Love you too, Hare-bear,” Rose teased.

Harry rolled his eyes and gave an incoherent grumble, flopping back down onto the bed. When he spoke, his voice came out muffled. “Bril, let’s get back to sleep.”

* * *

When they visited the next day, Sirius and Remus looked simultaneously appalled and proud.

“Working with Malfoy,” Sirius sighed. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“I’d work with him too if it meant getting something I wanted that badly,” Remus said mildly. “Have you got any ideas for what you want, Harry?”

Harry looked thoughtful, then grinned, sending her a sidelong look. “Has the Manor got enough magic for another house elf?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's still a couple months of second year to wrap up - next chapter will be from Harry's POV, and will hopefully clear things up for some people who might've been confused. After that, we've got three short chapters wrapping up loose ends (Lockhart, Salazar redemption, ghost plot, etc), and then third year!  
> Speaking of third year - I had it prewritten, but am currently doing some heavy editing, so I've been eating away at my buffer to post as regularly as I have been. Honestly, I'm not too upset - I really value the feedback I get from you guys, so having too much written in advance has been a bit of a double-edged sword for me.  
> Also, while I'm officially taking a leave of absence from school this semester, there's still some deferred exams and courses I'll be busy with from last semester, so expect updates to slow down to once or twice a week. Sorry, guys :(


	28. Interlude: Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort

It began with a cloak.

No – that was wrong. The beginning – the _true_ beginning – required going back even further, to Harry’s first memory. The first thing he could remember wasn’t of his parents, but of Rose. His sister’s auburn hair and pale green eyes, her voice raised in a scream. He’d reached out for her with one chubby hand and grasped her hand in his, and she’d quieted almost immediately. He’d felt a warm feeling of accomplishment, of contentedness, and he’d smiled.

(he’d been taking care of his sister since they were born)

* * *

After sending the diary to Sirius, Harry and Rose agreed that there were a great many gems in the Room of Hidden Things and resolved to look through it for more. Harry loved his sister, but she could be a bit scatterbrained at times. Her offhand promises, the ones she thought sounded nice and didn’t seem too difficult, were fulfilled only if she was pressed.

Harry didn’t want to press her. Rose had been frazzled all September; he didn’t know how many schemes she was in the middle of, and she probably didn’t either, just because of the sheer _number_ of them. He tried to be the best brother he could be – a shoulder to cry on, a person to hug, anything and anyone that could ease Rose’s life just a little. He knew that, technically, she was older than him, but sometimes Rose acted so very young. He’d been taking care of her in little ways for as long as he could remember – holding her hand through her nightmares, shaking her out of those fits she’d get (which, he understood now, were just memories), not telling her that her glamour charms didn’t work as well if she only applied them to her face. The prominence of her collarbone was always a good sign to see how she’d been eating.

So, when he decided to go back to the Room of Hidden Things, he didn’t find Rose first. He went on his own, wandering down the narrow, twisting aisles, peering up at stacks of the oddest objects he could imagine, and quite a few he couldn’t. Harry found an umbrella that changed colour every time it was opened, a wardrobe that made uncomfortable chewing noises whenever something was put into it, and a great many single socks.

Some things, like the socks, were grouped together in piles. Other things, like books, were scattered and could be found anywhere. After narrowly escaping from the chewing wardrobe with his life, Harry looked down at the treasures in his arms.

Well, they weren’t _really_ treasures, but he liked to pretend that they were. There was an old-fashioned top hat, and Harry spent a few minutes strutting around with his nose in the air before he realized he was acting like Malfoy and swept it from his head as quickly as he could. The other boy had been quieter since Rose set Macha on him, but he was still _Malfoy._ He tossed the hat into the air like a frisbee, watching with disappointment when it only flew a few feet before flopping down onto the ground. It was a very sad hat, Harry thought.

(he resolutely didn’t think about how much it hurt that Rose _still_ thought he’d disapprove of her viciousness – honestly, he’d grown up with the girl, did she think him _that_ oblivious?)

He turned back to his pile. There was a brilliantly pink scarf, which he draped around the hat to brighten it up a bit. There was a bag of apple cores, which Harry threw away like it was cursed. Maybe it was – how old _were_ they, exactly? _Best not to think about it,_ Harry decided.

Hmm. He rummaged through the somewhat-disappointing pile and his hand brushed something soft – something (dare he say it?) _silky._

Harry pulled out something that looked remarkably like an acromantula silk cloak. Why someone would even _want_ a cloak of the stuff was unknown – acromantula silk was slippery enough that he could easily injure a person by leaving a scrap of it at the top of the stairs. It was _definitely_ acromantula silk though, which meant –

He could get the diadem! Elation bubbled up in his chest. He felt about twenty pounds lighter and couldn’t stop the grin from spreading on his face.

Rose had been so mopey that they wouldn’t be able to retrieve it until after Yule break – what an excellent Yule gift it would be!

_Happy Yule, Rosie! I got you a bit of Voldemort’s soul; I’ll set up the campfire if you grab the marshmallows._

Yes! He held back a cackle, then remembered that he was alone and cackled to his heart’s content. Harry could barely wait – he had no idea where the diadem was, but he remembered Rose saying something about a vanishing cabinet? Maybe? Some sort of headdress?

Harry stared at the seemingly endless room before him. The stacks of who-knew-what towered towards the ceiling, the aisles between them twisting and turning with no rhyme or reason. His heart sank; perhaps he’d celebrated too quickly.

* * *

It was difficult to find time alone – the main problem was Hermione. He liked her, but _Merlin,_ that girl could not leave something alone. It had taken him and Neville weeks of begging and research until they’d finally gathered enough to prove to her that yes, house elves really _would_ die faster if they were freed, the bond strengthened them and lengthened their lives so no, freeing all the elves was definitely not the way to go and maybe she ought to look at laws on the care and treatment of house elves instead? Anyway, Hermione was now on a letter-writing campaign to the Department of the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Neville, Rose, and Susan were helping her. Harry pitied the poor clerk on the receiving end of one of those letters – Hermione could be positively _vicious_ when she wanted to be.

(speaking of letters, he needed to reply to Samantha Page’s – Rose was a terrible pen pal, Harry understood, he was just lucky he lived with the girl and could drag her off to talk whenever he wanted)

Harry shuddered. Hermione and Daphne were, truly, an unholy pair straight from the depths of hell. Harry just _knew_ that Daphne had been helping Hermione refined that viciousness. The image of a Hermione with _edges_ the same way Daphne had _edges_ was, quite frankly, terrifying, and Harry locked that image away behind the strongest occlumency shields he could muster before it broke his brain and he started screaming.

Anyway – he hadn’t found the diadem until October. It was honestly a little disappointing – he could just make out _‘wit beyond measure is man’s greatest treasure’_ beneath all the grime. Looks aside, though, it was still _Rowena Ravenclaw’s_ diadem.

… The same Rowena Ravenclaw who’d enchanted those brilliant tables in the Hogwarts Common Room.

Harry was so, so tempted – imagine the look on his sister’s face when he gave her _that_ for Yule! But no – Rose would prefer a dead Voldemort to an enchanted table, lost knowledge or not.

He sighed, pulling out the acromantula silk cloak from his bag and wrapping it around his hand. There was only enough fabric to wrap around five times, but honestly, he figured he’d be fine. Rose said she’d written in the diary and even worn the locket for _weeks_ and she’d come out alright, albeit a little moody in the case of the locket, so Harry wasn’t entirely sure the ten layers weren’t a little overkill.

(lie. He was _absolutely_ sure they were overkill. Rose was so paranoid sometimes)

Harry picked up the diadem, and –

_His scar **exploded** with pain_

* * *

Harry woke up clutching Ravenclaw’s diadem. He wasn’t entirely sure how he had gotten here, but he was still in the Room of Hidden Things. Harry felt a prickle of unease at the sight of his hand – wasn’t he supposed to…

But the thought trailed off, so it couldn’t have been _that_ important. Harry tucked the diadem away into a hidden pocket of his bag; he’d look at it later.

* * *

Harry didn’t know why he’d _ever_ wanted to destroy the diadem in the first place. He’d taken to wearing it sometimes at night, the curtains pulled tightly shut. It was incredible – his thoughts had never been clearer, his words never so compelling. It taught him tricks – how to inject magic into his voice to make it more persuasive, how to stand so his eyes caught the light and seemed to glow, a thousand little ways to turn on his natural charisma and be more than what he was.

He stood in front of the Great Hall in the middle of October, gazing out at the sea of students cheering and clapping. For _him. He’d_ come up with his speech, _he’d_ brought Hermione and Blaise and Daphne in on it, all of this was because of _him._

He wondered if this was what Rose had felt like after she’d killed Voldemort in her past life. The adoration, the cheers… it was intoxicating. He didn’t know why she’d complained.

* * *

Harry was losing time. There was a part, a very distant part, that was worried.

 _This is wrong,_ it whispered. _What’s happening? I should tell Rose._

But the louder, more dominant part was persuasive.

 _But the diadem’s so useful,_ it crooned _. Look at how much it’s taught you – imagine how much it could teach you. You wanted to be better, didn’t you? No need to worry Rose._

He wore the diadem more and more often now, hoping it would help him think of a solution.

* * *

Harry was having strange dreams. He didn’t even know if they could even be described _as_ dreams – they were more like flickers, really, like one of those muggle movies played so quickly you only ever got momentary glimpses.

(it didn’t)

He got a flash of a ghost, stone, and then anguished hissing.

_$I hurt them! I hurt them! You told me there were attackers - $_

He felt very sorry for the snake. He knew what it felt like to be betrayed.

(did omission count as betrayal?)

(Harry wasn’t sure, but his feelings were odd nowadays – like an out-of-tune radio)

* * *

Feelings he’d thought long-buried bubbled up to the surface. Jealousy seared his bones as he watched Rose soar to the top of the class – of course, now that he knew she was a reincarnation, that made sense.

 _It’s almost like cheating, isn’t it?_ A voice whispered in his head. _It’s not fair, that she has such an advantage._

 _A small prize,_ part of him argued back. _She’s only here because she died at twenty-one._

(and she’d never said exactly _how_ she’d died, either)

 _You want to be better than her?_ That same part of him argued. _You want to be even? Make_ yourself _better. Better yourself instead of bringing her down._

 _But it’s not fair,_ the first voice hissed.

 _You don’t want to beat her,_ the second said quietly, but there was a gravity to the words that was unshakeable _. You want to equal her._

_(so you can take care of her)_

* * *

Watching Malfoy’s bones shatter was the most satisfying thing he’d ever seen. Fury thrummed through his veins even as he smiled. How dare this boy attack Rose, his _sister?_

(ever since he could remember, he’d taken care of her)

The idiocy, the audacity… it was astounding.

 _(his eyes had clouded, though,_ a voice whispered. _A sign of a compulsion)_

Harry ignored it, focusing instead on the power pulsing through him. He stared down at Malfoy, smiling. He healed Malfoy with two words, because he wanted a real fight, he wanted Malfoy to _suffer,_ and oh, did he suffer.

All those hours he’d spent practicing in the Room of Requirement had paid off. The diadem was right – there was no good or evil, only power and those too weak to seek it. He dodged a _flipendo_ and _petrificus totalis,_ wanting to sneer at the simplicity of the spells. He tossed a _diffindo_ at Malfoy – maybe losing a limb would knock into his head what a bad idea it was to threaten him and his. Malfoy managed to shield against it, and Harry couldn’t decide whether he was disappointed or not.

He decided he was. He threw out a _defodio_ just for laughs, sent another bone-shattering curse right after. Malfoy had a grade-one Auror shield up now, which was impressive, but not impressive enough. Harry bared his teeth in a grin and laughed when Malfoy flinched.

 _Incendio, diffindo, ossio conminuo…_ The spells bloomed from the tip of his wand like water, one light flowing into another, each one barely taking off on invisible wings before the next appeared. Harry lit up the Slytherin common room in a blaze of light as he hammered at Malfoy’s shield with pure _power._ There was a stutter in his vision, and suddenly he was standing over the other boy, who’d been disarmed. Technically, Harry hadn’t yet won – Malfoy could still get his wand back, after all, so he’d be perfectly within his rights to…

 _“Flipendo,”_ he snarled, pouring his magic into the word, and Malfoy was thrown into the air, crunching down a dozen feet away.

“Oops,” Harry said, because he kind of wished Malfoy had put up a better fight. That’d been a… upsettingly short duel. “I haven’t killed him, have I?”

“No,” the Baron said shortly. “Only unconscious. Victory goes to Potter.”

 _Damn right it does,_ Harry thought, grinning.

* * *

After the duel, Snape treated him with noticeably less disdain. Harry hadn’t seen the man in the Slytherin common room, but he wouldn’t put it past the old bat to have alternative ways of knowing.

(he didn’t tell Rose. It would only worry her)

* * *

***

* * *

For thirty-eight years, the fragment of Lord Voldemort languished. It had not occurred to him, when he made his horcruxes, that they would be sentient. He’d thought the diary an anomaly – he’d been young, and the medium of writing had enabled communication. It had been oddly fixated on the Chamber of Secrets, after all, what else but an accident of magic could have caused such fanatical focus?

As it was, he had miscalculated. No, not a miscalculation – had he been the master soul, he’d have made horcruxes regardless. It had been a mistake, and he only felt that way as he was the soul trapped in a piece of metal. He hadn’t realized just how present his senses had been before he’d lost them – the feeling of clothes against his skin, the rush of air into his lungs, the taste of food upon his tongue.

Slowly, his magic unravelled the protections the master soul had placed upon the diadem. He did not want to kill whomever found him – he wanted to possess them. He wanted to open his eyes, taste the air, feel the ground beneath his feet. Lord Voldemort had never longed for anything as much as he longed for a body. This blackness, this _nothingness…_ At last, he’d found a fate worse than death, and it _burned_ that he’d been the one to confine himself to it.

Time was ephemeral. It might have been anywhere from a thousand years to a day since he’d come to be, but one day, he felt the bright spark of what he knew, instinctively, to be a soul.

Had he had a heart, it would have leapt. He concentrated all his focus into drawing the soul nearer, and it came. Meandering, yes, but it came, and he reached out to meet it. Something touched him, and suddenly –

He fell to the ground. _He_ _fell,_ because he had a body, and the world was bright and the feel of clothes overwhelming and _smells_ and –

Blackness. He was back in the diadem, but for an instant, _he hadn’t._ He had somehow _accidentally possessed_ the creature who’d stumbled upon him. He could feel the brightness of that soul even now, knew that the diadem was being held, but was wary of reaching out again. Instead, Lord Voldemort sat back and plotted. He was stronger now.

* * *

Each time the boy – _Harry Potter,_ he reminded himself – touched, was even _near_ the diadem, Lord Voldemort learned a little more. Potter was a child, a second year at Hogwarts. He was a Gryffindor – he’d recognized the garish red of the boy’s bed curtains instantly. The boy’s sister was a reincarnation, and wasn’t _that_ interesting? Most intriguing of all, however, Lord Voldemort discovered why the boy was so susceptible to his possession.

_He was a horcrux._

Not a proper horcrux – Lord Voldemort could sense no sentience from that empty hole in the boy’s soul that mirrored his own – but the boy had held a piece of his soul nonetheless. Suddenly, the boy became far more than a vessel. He needed to be protected. Voldemort had managed to discourage the boy from telling his sister, but his will was horrifically strong, and he didn’t know how long that would last, so he played on the girl’s fears to distract her. She worried that taking the diary had been too easy? She feared that the Chamber may open regardless?

Who was Lord Voldemort to stand in the way of such conviction?

* * *

(between his own innate genius and the diadem’s powers, creating a timed glamour was easy)

* * *

He returned to the Room of Requirement and found a top hat near where the diadem had once lain. He transfigured it into a replica and placed it back upon the bust.

* * *

He watched through the boys’ eyes. No one suspected him, though he wondered if Severus could somehow feel his presence – the man had gone awfully pale. But he was not watching the Potter boy in particular, so he let it be.

* * *

At first, Lord Voldemort had hoped to somehow merge with the horcrux within the boy. But it was difficult – far more difficult than he’d expected. The boy’s soul had grown around the fragment and tearing it out had cost him greatly, but Lord Voldemort succeeded in the end. He had unknowingly loosened the bonds tying them together with his initial possession, and all it took was continued possession to break them completely. After that, all he needed was a few more years to merge the two pieces of himself together and he would be one step closer to outweighing the master soul, to _becoming_ the master soul. He would not be relegated to a mere _piece,_ doomed to eternity in cold, unfeeling metal.

But the boy’s soul fought him every step of the way, and Lord Voldemort could only possess him for short periods of time that nonetheless left him exhausted. Most of his energy went into reassuring the boy, persuading him to keep the diadem a secret from his sister. At this rate, it might take decades. It might not even happen at all – his energy could only be replenished so quickly, after all. The boy was too strong-willed, too stubborn.

So he watched through the boy’s eyes for another suitable, weaker-willed candidate. He would drain another’s soul to build his strength, then return to the Potter boy and merge with what remained of the fragment in his scar. He would allow the deaths of the diary and locket – he would brook no competition and merging with _those_ pieces would require yet another stay in a lifeless object. It was… difficult… but necessary.

It was necessary.

(he would not go back)

His eyes fell on a possible candidate, but the boy wasn’t quite there yet. He still had allies who would defend him, after all.

(not friends. He knew what friends were, through the Potter boy’s mind, knew how to recognize the dynamics and way they acted. This boy had no friends)

He whispered rage and disdain into the Malfoy boy’s mind. _Anger Potter,_ he urged at the duel. Compulsions were difficult, especially wandless and wordless ones, but he was Lord Voldemort. He’d figured out how to circumvent the protections of the Heir Rings before the war even began, after all.

* * *

Draco Malfoy was perfect. The scion of a noble pureblood family, young enough that any changes could be written off as adolescence, no irritating sisters or friends who knew him well enough to tell. It was like Fate – he watched as the compulsion he’d pushed into Malfoy’s mind manifested _beautifully,_ the Malfoy boy provoking Potter exactly as he’d expected. The second duel had been a surprise, but a pleasant one _._ He’d even possessed the Potter boy for a few fractions of a second, just so he could enjoy the look of pain and fear on Malfoy’s face. He’d barely had to nudge him, supplying only the cold calculation that’d disturbed his sister so much – the Potter boy had done the rest all on his own. He was a vicious, cruel boy, and would make an excellent servant.

He watched as the Malfoy boy grew isolated, as allies turned their backs on him in favor of the Potters. Truly, the twins were a wonder to watch. He almost understood the boy’s near-fanatical devotion to his sister – she had a malicious edge beneath the Hufflepuff loyalty that almost made him regret trying to kill them. Had it not been for the prophecy, he would’ve likely tried to recruit them, Hogwarts Houses be damned. It had been another mistake, all those years ago, to overlook Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, to label them as the ‘Light’ and ‘Progressive’ Houses. He understood that now.

(the two soul pieces were merging. Time… time was odd. Had he just found the diadem, or had he just killed Lily Potter?)

It was a travesty that the both of them had avoided Slytherin. His ancestor was likely rolling in his grave.

* * *

He obliviated the boy of his memories of the diadem in preparation for the move. After finding a remembrall tucked in a pocket of his bag, he vanished that too.

The only way he’d managed to convince the boy to keep his memory loss to himself was by wrapping the thought in concern and worry. It was likely nothing, after all, what would be the point of worrying his sister?

* * *

He kept up the petrifications at appropriate intervals, not caring who or what he caught. The entire thing was meant to serve as a distraction, after all. The boy wanted to steer him towards Gryffindors, possibly to try and alert his sister, but she was so caught up in _how_ the petrifications were happening that she paid no mind to _whom_ was being petrified. It was almost pitifully easy to distract her – the most difficult part had been exerting his will over the basilisk, who’d grown stronger in his absence. But he was Lord Voldemort, the greatest sorcerer of all time. He would not be bested by a _beast._

 _(“Imperio,”_ he snarled, bearing down on the creature with his implacable will. It resisted and writhed and screamed, but he won in the end. He always did)

* * *

At last, it was time. The Yule holidays gave him the perfect chance. He possessed Potter for the last time, leading his body to the Slytherin dorms, staying in control long enough to let the boy reawaken in the dungeons instead of Malfoy’s room. The boy would be suspicious, but the transfigured diadem and absence of memories ought to hold him off long enough for Voldemort to gain a body.

* * *

He had been correct, as usual. The Malfoy boy’s will was weak, able only to steer him towards petrifying a Slytherin to clear the House’s name, and isolated as he was, it was easy to whisper words of comfort into his ear. The Malfoy boy wasn’t like Potter – he didn’t need nor want intelligence, persuasion, influence. No, all Draco Malfoy wanted was a real friend, one who would like him for who he was, not who his father was, and Lord Voldemort was an excellent actor.

Two months later, he noticed rudimentary wards around the bathroom entrance, and felt amused. Did they truly think a little girl’s wards would stop _Lord Voldemort?_ He disabled them easily, but made a mental note to speed up his plans.

* * *

During the second week of March, he noticed the looks. The sister and Potter were subtle enough, but their friends were painfully obvious, especially Bones and Longbottom. Clearly, the Potters had reversed his obliviation. The best option, and the simplest, would be to kill them, but that would be horribly suspicious to their little friends, and the boy was his horcrux. Best to find a way to keep them alive – both of them, because of that damned twin bond. He was willing to sacrifice another horcrux, but that didn’t mean he _wanted_ to. Besides, they were half-merged already. What would happen if the horcrux in the boy were destroyed while attached to _him,_ the piece that’d once lived in the diadem?

Draft of Living Death was hideously expensive; the Malfoy boy could not withdraw such a sum of money from his vaults without drawing attention, nor did he have the time to brew it himself.

A plan began to form. He commissioned a copy of the diary, rush-ordering it and receiving it in a week. Why not take advantage of the elder Malfoy's mistake? 

(this would teach him to be careful with what was _his)_

Soon, if the boy refused to bend that iron will of his, he would kill them both and escape. If not, they would frame the Malfoy boy for the opening of the Chamber, and he would be able to punish Lucius for such callous treatment of his soul.

Soon, it would be Ostara, a day of rebirth.

(soon, he'd never be trapped again)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Astute readers will have noticed that this work is now part of a series ;) this work will go up to third year, and fourth and beyond will be a different one


	29. Year 2, Part 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! I'm editing faster than I thought I would be! Unfortunately, I had to split this chapter in two, so we won't be getting to the ghost subplot until next chapter. Fortunately, that chapter should be up by this weekend!

The history of the Chamber was a tad more complicated than what the Sorting Hat had made it out to be. The Chamber had been a home for Selena the same way the Griffin Door Room (what was now Dumbledore’s office) was a home for Fawkes. Though, the sword really _had_ been a failsafe – apparently the whole imbued-with-basilisk-venom thing had been intentional and part of Hogwarts’ defence network.

(it took years for a basilisk to mature, after all)

Each founder had had their own space; Gryffindor’s had been the Griffin Door Room, Ravenclaw’s the Room of Requirement, Slytherin’s the Chamber of Secrets, and Hufflepuff’s the Hogwarts Common Room, which Rose supposed explained the ivy. Though that also begged the question of how the hell there was so little information on that ivy if it dated back to the time of the _founding,_ but that was a question for another time. Each space was connected with each other through passages that could be opened if the opener was ‘worthy,’ something Slytherin hadn’t bothered to define. Rose hoped it was somewhere in his library – that would make sense, wouldn’t it?

Harry and Rose had ‘found’ and gone through Slytherin’s library after the Chamber incident, saying that Slytherin had only set up the requirements to include Parseltongue, so naturally any two-bit Parselmouth would be able to access it.

(they were lying through their teeth, but who was going to contradict them? No one else could even _enter_ the library)

They donated the history texts to Oxford University to help clear Slytherin’s name and kept the Parselmagic ones to themselves. It was selfish, but they didn’t much care. They needed a leg up on Voldemort, and there was a chance that room held magicks not even _he_ knew.

Rose erected a simple ward over the tunnel leading from the Chamber to outside Hogwarts’ wards. She didn’t think Voldemort knew about it, since otherwise he would’ve used it in her timeline, but better safe than sorry. The Chamber itself was also outside Hogwarts’ wards, and always would be. It was something built into the very foundation of the school, apparently, which was why Dumbledore had never done anything about it despite having an idea of where it was.

(that was the excuse he gave, anyways. Rose was too wary to press further – for all her influence, she was still twelve, and a student under his power)

As for the Chamber, Harry and Rose essentially closed it off. Rose thought its connection to the Room of Requirement would be useful if/when Umbridge arrived, and honestly… both of them felt a bit possessive about it. It was _their_ heritage, after all, and Salazar had left instructions on modifying the Chamber’s wards in his library, so after Selena was harvested – and oh, Merlin, was she _excited_ about her plans for that – she and Harry were going to edit the wards to allow only students entry.

(she still had trouble trusting adults; she was self-aware enough to know that much)

(oddly enough, Sirius and Remus didn’t seem to count)

(but she had bigger things to worry about than some lingering trust issues)

(she’d woken up once in a haze of horror, seen the flash of _avada kedavra_ green through the grogginess of sleep and thought _Harry_ before she’d been able to clamp down on her occlumency barriers and shut it out)

(Harry’d looked awful the next morning, so after that she’d taken to drinking a vial of Dreamless Sleep before bed. Rose was infinitely grateful it had no long-term effects. She’d wean herself off of it during the summer, hopefully)

(but there’d been a look in his eye, a dazed sort of unreality, that had set off alarm bells of recognition)

* * *

The official story was that a dark object of unknown origins had compelled a student into opening the Chamber. The rumors circulating around the school, however, argued that it had been _Malfoy_ who’d been opening the Chamber and who’d been stopped by Harry and Rose. After all, he was a Slytherin and the son of a Death Eater. Slytherin House stood by him in public, but her Slytherin friends told her that, in the privacy of their common room, Malfoy was treated coolly. It didn’t matter what had actually happened – all that mattered was that people believed Malfoy had done something, and that kind of lack of control of one’s reputation was deplorable.

(it didn’t matter that it was true – it wasn’t Malfoy’s fault, and that kind of knee-jerk assumptions was _exactly_ what Rose was fighting against)

She and Harry had each received 10 points and a Special Services to the School award. Riddle’s had been quietly taken down, Dumbledore making them promise to keep his identity a secret (it wasn’t a magically-binding oath, but it might as well have been). Dumbledore had wanted to award them each 100, but Harry and Rose had argued him down, saying that they shouldn’t be given so many points for pure luck. This had been done at dinner, simultaneously bolstering Harry and Rose’s reputations amongst certain people and decimating it amongst others. It was a work in progress, but integrity was important. More than that – it was important to be _seen_ as a person who valued integrity, so Rose took the hit, hoping it’d fade.

(besides, she had a plan – soon, points would be the least of everyone’s worries)

(she liked to imagine the look on Rita Skeeter’s face when she got Rose’s letter)

In the meantime, Rose just counted herself lucky that Malfoy had kept the diadem a secret.

(it lay, broken and mangled, in the recesses of the Chamber, and if she had anything to say about it, that was where it’d stay)

She didn’t want to think about what Voldemort might do if his penchant for defiling founder’s items got out – she didn’t want to risk him making more horcruxes or checking on his existing ones. They’d been as upfront as possible with their friends.

“I thought you said it was a diadem,” Hermione had frowned. “Not a diary.”

“We thought it was,” Harry had said, choosing his words carefully. “But we were wrong. The diadem was just a – an extension, I suppose you’d say. What was _really_ behind it the whole time was the diary.”

“I’ve never heard of anything like that,” Hermione had said, brow furrowed in thought.

“You wouldn’t’ve,” Theo had said quietly. “It’s evil magic. I think my father warned me about something like it, once.”

That, the confirmation from the scion of a Dark family, was enough to put any other questions to rest. They settled into a comfortable silence, Hermione blinking and accepting Theo’s words at face value that no, he didn’t remember the titles right now, but he’d check the family library over the summer and let her know. Susan had sighed, said a light, “Well, glad that’s over with,” and Neville had grinned and said “Merlin, yes,” and Harry had dragged them all into working on a History of Magic essay and Rose had tried to relax.

Theo had lied, Rose knew. She was a daughter of the Blacks and had _never_ heard of anything like it – it was a thin, flimsy excuse, and they’d need to tell their friends the truth one day, of horcruxes and alternate universes and _avada kedavras_ , but for now they were children who’d never looked death in the face, who’d never gone down trapdoors or into pipes, and she wanted to preserve that as long as she could.

 _(I cared about you too much,_ said Dumbledore simply. _I cared more for your happiness than your knowing the truth)_

(she shoved it to the back of her mind the moment the thought appeared)

* * *

(but thoughts put out of mind did not simply cease to exist)

* * *

_(you were too young, much too young)_

It was different, Rose told herself firmly, but the words rang hollow even to her. She wasn’t keeping a prophecy from her friends, it was nothing they _needed_ to know, but…

(but the secrets sat heavy on her chest and she worried one day it would crush her)

* * *

She watched Theo carefully over the next few days, sat next to him in Charms, smiled at him in the Great Hall, and saw nothing.

“Maybe,” Harry said dryly, “he was telling the truth?”

“But what if he _wasn’t?”_ Rose had stressed, pacing.

“There’s no point in twisting yourself up about it though, is there?” Harry pointed out. He tugged at her hand, pulling her around the Room of Requirement. “C’mon, Rosie, you’re losing sleep. Either confront him or forget about it.”

“But we can’t tell him – “

“So don’t. Tell him you have secrets, that you can’t tell him what they are right now, but you appreciate him covering for you. I’m sure he’s guessed, if he really _was_ lying.”

“And if he asks what they are?”

“He’s not going to force Veritaserum down your throat. You don’t need to answer.”

(and hadn’t that been a revelation? _You don’t need to answer)_

(Rose didn’t know why she’d been so taken aback – surely it was obvious? Surely…)

(and yet it hadn’t been)

* * *

(every demand, every question she’d ever been asked, Rose had been expected to answer truthfully, without exception. It had never occurred to her that she could just… not)

* * *

Rose caught Theo’s eye after breakfast on Saturday morning, angling her head slightly to the doors of the Great Hall. Theo, ever subtle, understood immediately and dipped his head almost imperceptibly in acknowledgement. She waited, trying not to look to nervous, as he finished his waffles, and met her calmly at the doors where she stood.

“Room of Requirement?” she asked.

A nod, the light of understanding entering his eyes. Theo had been expecting this, making Rose surer than ever that he’d lied to them (for them). What she couldn’t figure out – what she _hoped_ to know – was _why._

They walked in tense silence to the Room, neither of them seeming willing to break it. Rose’s thoughts were racing, the same question repeating itself over and over, its implications terrifying. If Theo… If Theo knew something he shouldn’t…

What would she do?

What would she do if he knew one of her secrets _(or more than one,_ an insidious voice whispered)? She couldn’t _obliviate_ him – she might permanently damage his memory, and he was her _friend._ She could threaten him, she supposed, to make him keep quiet…

 _Or,_ a voice murmured. _You could just trust him. Trust him to keep quiet, to value your friendship enough to keep your secrets._

(it sounded suspiciously like Harry)

That was the choice, wasn’t it? To trust or not to trust?

(she was asking herself that a lot, lately)

Theo… wasn’t Harry. They hadn’t grown up together, hadn’t shared over a decade of their lives. She’d known Theo for a scant year and a half. The situation was entirely different. Theo had given her no reason to trust him.

Except he had, hadn’t he? He’d covered for her, that day in the Room. He’d taken the risk of being her friend, first on the train, then again when she’d sat at the Slytherin table for the first time. He’d supported her, been there for her, defended her against Blaise and Daphne’s accusations of Dark Lordship.

She would, Rose decided. She’d trust him.

She took a breath, staring up at the blank stretch of wall on the seventh floor. Three times she paced, thinking. She heard Theo stifle a gasp as she pushed open the door to a replica of the Slytherin common room. She hoped he understood the implicit message.

(this wasn’t an interrogation)

“I’m not sure how to put this subtly,” Rose began, abandoning her previous plans. She wasn’t going to talk to Theo like… like she had a _right_ to his answers. “I grew up with Gryffindors, so I’m going to be blunt.”

Theo, settling himself down on a couch, gave a small quirk of his lips. “Alright, then,” he said.

“I wanted to thank you,” she said. “For covering for Harry and me the other day.”

Theo cocked his head, birdlike. It was a slight, delicate motion that sent his chestnut fringe swishing into his eyes, and she felt a rush of affection for her friend. Affection, she’d found, was a warm feeling, starting at her chest and spreading all the way down to her fingertips.

 _Yes,_ her heart said. _This was the right choice._

“You know what I’m talking about,” she said, smiling slightly. “Originally, I was going to confront you and ask you why, but I’ve decided to channel my Gryffindor roots. I’m going to be brave, and I’m going to trust that you had your reasons, and I’m not going to ask.”

Theo blinked. It was the only sign of his surprise; not even a slight widening of the eyes betrayed him.

“I’m going to be blunt, too,” he said, “and say that of all the things I was expecting, this wasn’t one of them.”

“Nice to know I haven’t grown predictable,” Rose teased. Theo smiled back, but still looked a little confused, eyebrows drawn ever so slightly.

“I’m not sure what to do, now,” he admitted, bemused. “This isn’t going how I thought it would.”

“How did you think it would go?” Rose asked, honestly curious.

“I was expecting an interrogation, mainly,” Theo said, looking faintly amused at his own confusion.

“It was my first thought,” Rose said freely. “But I’ve decided to trust you, and to trust that you had your reasons.”

That, at least, elicited a reaction. Theo’s face went slack with shock as he stared at her, eyes bugging out of his head.

“ _What_? _”_ he asked, voice an octave higher in disbelief. She allowed herself to frown at him, consciously dropping her mask. Why was he so confused? Was her trust really so hard to come by? Even in her past life, hadn’t she always worn her heart on her sleeve? Hadn’t she…

 _No_ , Rose realized, horrified. She’d trusted only Ron and Hermione for _years,_ trusting Neville and Luna and Ginny only because she’d had to. Merlin, she hadn’t trusted _anyone_ other than them for… her entire life, essentially. She’d isolated herself with them, and she’d been isolating herself with Harry again.

(history didn’t repeat itself, people repeated history)

(if she wanted to change, she needed to _work_ for it)

“I trust you,” she repeated, voice firm and hard as steel. “I trust you.”

“I trust you, too,” Theo said quietly, his face quickly rearranging itself to hide his shock. “That’s why I covered for you. It’s alright to have secrets, you know,” he added. “I’m not… you’re not ready to tell me, and you might never tell me, and that’s okay. I’m still your friend.”

He flushed, turning pinker when Rose flung her arms around him in a hug.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “I’ll tell you one day,” she vowed. “I promise.”

“It’s alright if you don’t,” Theo said, hugging her back just as tightly. She breathed in the scent of her friend, cinnamon and nutmeg and hot chocolate, and smiled.

“I know,” she replied. “But I will.”


	30. Year 2, Part 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you to everyone who reads/leaves kudos/bookmarks/comments <3 can you believe this fic is over 100k words already? It's been like two months XD

Embarrassingly, it wasn’t until she caught sight of Nearly-Headless Nick’s petrified form in the hospital wing that Rose realized she’d never followed up on her apparent ability to scare ghosts. She was certain they were avoiding her, however – she hadn’t seen a single one since the Bloody Baron all those months ago. Someone had left the privacy curtains open; without them, she might have forgotten altogether.

The problem now, of course, was now getting a ghost alone to answer her questions. Ghosts were odd things – more human than portraits, frozen at the moment of death, they lingered only because they felt they had unfinished business in the world of the living. There was no known way of removing a ghost; all one could do was wait for them to move on of their own accord. They would’ve been excellent spies had they cared about anything other than themselves.

Rose left the hospital wing in a haze of thought, mind whirling. She needed to figure out how to corner something that could not be trapped. She combed over her memories of her old life, searching for clues. She could ask Peeves, Rose supposed, but he deferred to the Baron, so that was out... Technically, she could talk to Binns, but the man seemed so out-of-touch that he’d never even noticed her, so she doubted the plans’ utility. Could she gatecrash a deathday party?

Almost without her noticing, her feet had brought her to the library. Rose smiled hopefully at Madam Pince, but the librarian only scowled, still upset over the ruckuses Rose had often been in the center of. She headed straight for the history section, which was unsurprisingly empty. She flipped through _Hogwarts: A History,_ putting the book back on the self in disgust when it gave her nothing. She couldn’t find mention of a single deathday anywhere, which she thought odd until she remembered how not even Hermione had been able to dig up information on deathday parties in her past life.

Rose scowled. It was looking more and more likely that she’d need to wait for Nearly-Headless Nick’s deathday party on Samhain – she couldn’t very well ask around, could she?

* * *

“Come in, Miss Potter,” Professor Sprout said kindly. Rose sat down in her usual seat – Professor Sprout had a corner of her office devoted solely to these check-ins. She sank into her armchair, accepting a cup of tea with a smile. It wasn’t as good as Remus’ special blend, but it was quite nice all the same.

“How have you been holding up?”

Rose took a careful sip. It was pleasantly hot, but not scalding. “I’ve been… surprisingly alright, actually. It’s not nearly as bad as what happened last year, in all honesty. I actually wanted to talk to you about something, though…”

Her Head of House waited patiently, a gentle smile on her face. Rose felt a surge of fondness for her. How different would things have been, if she’d been a Hufflepuff the first time?

“Well… I read a lot, you know, and I couldn’t help but think… well. There’s not a lot of potions and things that call for stuff like basilisk scales or venom because of the expense, but… like I said, basilisk parts are awfully expensive, aren’t they?”

Professor Sprout’s eyes widened. _“_ Oh. _Oh._ I… see what you’re getting at, Miss Potter.”

“And,” Rose added. “The basilisk is technically Hogwarts’ property, isn’t it? She belonged to Salazar Slytherin and was left here as a protector. I know Harry’s entitled to some of it by right of conquest, but… to be honest, we don’t really need the money. So, I was wondering if you could talk to the Headmaster, because we’ve been wanting to get rid of Binns for years, and if we could fund that…”

Sprout set down her teacup. “That’s an _excellent_ idea, Miss Potter. In fact, I’d like to go right now, if you would accompany me.” There was a sly glint in her eye that excited her.

Rose perked up. “That would be wonderful! Harry’s waiting just outside, coincidentally.”

Sprout laughed. “Clever of you, Miss Potter. Shall we?”

“We shall!” Rose beamed.

* * *

Rose was almost positive Sprout had nearly been a Slytherin – the woman was surprisingly cunning, phrasing her suggestions in such a way that Dumbledore would’ve looked terrible to refuse it. It helped that it was the Head of Hufflepuff and Rose and Harry Potter who was doing the asking – from what Rose understood of Hogwarts politics from Sirius, who sat on the Board of Governors, no one liked Binns, but the Traditionalist families were particularly loud opponents of the ghost, so some Progressive families argued in favor of cost savings on principle. Ever since some Hogwarts Head accidentally gambled away half the school’s endowment, the school’s yearly budget had been steadily decreasing and tuition costs steadily increasing. With this ‘donation,’ however, that was no longer a viable argument, and the moment they left the Headmaster’s office Rose was positively _vibrating_ with excitement. She yelled out a hasty goodbye to Sprout, grabbed Harry’s hand, and raced to the Hogwarts Common Room, laughing and screaming and whooping. It was a miracle they didn’t encounter Filch, though a great many students laughed at them confusedly as they passed. Rose didn’t care – _they were getting rid of Binns!_ Absolutely nothing could bring her down right now. This was the best thing she’d accomplished in either of her lifetimes – better than defeating Voldemort, better than graduating Hogwarts, better than becoming an Auror – _she’d gotten rid of Binns._

“EVERYONE!” She cried, tripping into the Hogwarts Common Room, narrowly avoiding a collision with a sofa, dodging her way towards the study group, slamming her hands down on the table and upending several bottles of ink. She stared at her yearmates, beaming. “WE’RE GETTING RID OF BINNS NEXT YEAR!”

 _“What?!”_ several people shrieked. Rose jumped in place, laughing. “I know!” She couldn’t get enough air. She’d never been this bloody _happy_ before, this was _incredible._

“Basilisks are bloody expensive,” Harry grinned next to her, barely out of breath. “Expensive enough to hire a new professor for hundreds of years. _”_

(even excluding the roll of basilisk skin they’d set aside)

“We just spoke to the Headmaster,” Rose squealed. “Isn’t it _wonderful?”_

They actually cheered at that. The other occupants in the common room, overhearing, joined in. Soon, the ground shook and candles overhead trembled with the force of it, and the news was all over the school by dinnertime. There was not a single person who didn’t give anything short of a brilliant smile when they heard – Rose, Harry, and Professor Sprout were the school heroes for a week. Blaise, heedless of decorum, jumped onto the Slytherin table in jubilation. The rest of the school gave a raucous cheer alongside him. The only time anyone voiced a sentiment even close to disappointment was when they realized they would no longer be able to have a nap during the school day. Even then, it was said in something more like relief – no one had really _wanted_ to sleep in Binns’ class, after all.

This was even more wonderful than the reopening of the Ritual Rooms, since _everyone_ was cheered by this. Rose and Harry’s standing in the school was boosted considerably, as was Professor Sprout’s and Hufflepuff’s in general. Everyone forgot they’d turned down a hundred points – _they’d gotten rid of Binns._

“Not duffers anymore, are we?” Susan had laughed gleefully. “Good on you, Rose, Professor Sprout!”

“Brilliant, Potter,” Derrick grinned. “Even for a talentless lowlife like you.” It was a genuine grin though – Slytherin had a large proportion of Traditionalist families, who all placed a good deal of value on history. Rose laughed, spooning some more mashed potatoes onto her plate. Today wasn’t technically a Slytherin dinner Friday, but honestly the entire day had been so chaotic that no one particularly noticed or cared. Rose had taken advantage of the lack of eyes on her to plop down amongst the Slytherin quidditch team.

“I said I’d get rid of Binns, didn’t I?” Rose grinned back. “Actually – you’ve got an uncle on the Board of Governors, haven’t you?”

Derrick raised his eyebrows. “I do.”

“Well, I have it on good authority that soon Lords Malfoy and Black will propose adding a number of books on wixen culture and traditions to the list for first year muggle-raised students. I’d appreciate if you could spread the word.”

He studied her. “You think it’ll pass?”

Rose gave a pointed look at the Great Hall. “I think a great many students are eager for change. Besides,” she said, giving a devious smirk, “I have it on good authority that several muggle-raised students, like my good friend Hermione Granger, have written to the members of the Board requesting exactly that.” Hermione had also circulated a petition amongst the muggle-raised wix, giving her words popular support.

She wasn’t foolish enough to put _everything_ on Sirius and Lucius Malfoy’s shoulders, after all. She loved Sirius, but Malfoy was _slippery._

The last of the grin faded from his expression, bleeding into something more serious. “Not everyone’s going to be happy about this, you know. Not just Progressives, either.”

She met his gaze steadily. “I know.”

And she did – many Traditionalists were blood purists of the highest order. They’d see muggleborn integration as an offense to Magic Herself, a slap in the face to everything they’d worked for and believed. There were also a number of Progressives, like the Weasleys, who scorned such things as blood purist and old-fashioned. There would be resistance from both sides, which was why she’d needed Lucius Malfoy, a leader of the Traditionalist faction, to support her. She’d gambled on his pragmatism – he might’ve been a Death Eater, but she suspected that was just an outlet for sadism. He was too politically savvy not to understand the benefits of muggleborn integration. Alongside Sirius, who led the small group of Neutral Progressives, and Hermione’s letters, they’d hopefully be able to swing enough votes to pass.

* * *

Two days later, after extensive discussion in the Badger Hole, Rose posted several sheets of parchment on the notice board in the entrance hall.

_A message from Harry and Rose Potter to the students of Hogwarts:_

_We got rid of Binns! What other changes do you want to see at Hogwarts? Sign your name under any venture you support, and feel free to add your own ideas! Thanks, everyone_ _😊_

  1. _Reopen the ballroom (and add more school events!)_
  2. _Add a Dueling elective_
  3. _Add a Home Economics elective_
  4. _Mandatory introduction to muggle studies, for wixen-raised students_
  5. _Mandatory introduction to wixen traditions and culture, for muggle-raised students_
  6. _Access to Hogwarts (and its library) over the summer_



* * *

_Dear Miss Potter,_

_I appreciate your taking the time to write to me. I have looked over your ideas and find many admirable, though I would be grateful if you would please elaborate on your reasoning for an introduction to muggle studies. As an aside, I would like to commend you on finally ridding Hogwarts of Professor Binns – it is high time the History of Magic curriculum be updated. As a token of my appreciation, I will be introducing a motion in the Wizengamot for a permanent increase in the Hogwarts subsidy so that we might make this change permanent._

_What would your thoughts be on a weekly Wixen Traditions class for muggle-raised students? There are, after all, many things one cannot learn from a book._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Lucius Malfoy_

_3 rd Earl of Wiltshire_

* * *

It was simultaneously excellent and terrifying that Rose now maintained a regular correspondence with Lucius Malfoy. Excellent because, at twelve, she could now run ideas by the man who held Fudge’s leash, and terrifying because, at _twelve,_ she spoke regularly with _a former Death Eater_ and _blood purist._ Granted, from what Sirius and Remus told her, he’d always been more financial backer than participant, but _still._ She was disgusted at herself for associating with him, but it furthered her goals, so she stomached it.

(one day, she wouldn’t need him anymore. Until then, needs must)

She read over every letter several times, owled Andromeda for advice (and hadn’t the woman been horrified when she’d found what Rose had been up to?), and spent far too many galleons on hideously expensive stationary. There was a disgusting amount one could communicate via parchment, wax, and ink choice, and Rose needed to ensure she made a good impression.

(she understood, now, what people meant when they called politicians ‘slimy.’ She felt like she needed to take a shower after every letter, appalled at herself for enjoying it)

(it was _fun,_ to put such careful thought into every word, to read between the lines and draw meaning from seemingly innocuous phrases)

(it was fun, but she wished she didn’t have to associate with Lucius Malfoy to do it)

* * *

Rose arrived to Ancient Runes early, a little nervous. She had a good reputation amongst the younger years, but she rarely had reason to interact with the upper ones. While they might be pleased at the removal of Binns, she couldn’t think of a single person who’d continued History of Magic past their OWLs unless they’d absolutely had to, so they really weren’t that affected. She sat in her usual seat in the empty classroom and pulled out a worksheet, trying to check over her answers and quell the frantic jumping of her heart.

“Miss Potter?”

“Mr. Weasley,” Rose greeted, glancing up. She tried for a smile. “I thought I told you to call me Rose.”

Percy flushed a little. “Yes, well, it’s been quite some time, I wasn’t sure if – “

“Not at all. Harry likes you, and that’s good enough for me.” Her smile widened into something more genuine. “He says you’re very principled.”

She wasn’t lying – of course, she’d stretched the meaning of ‘tolerant amusement’ a bit, but her brother wouldn’t mind.

“Does he?” Percy said, looking pleased, before catching himself. “Ah – anyway, Rose, I wanted to ask about the notice you posted in the entrance hall.”

Rose beamed up at him. “Of course! Ask away!”

“Right,” Percy coughed. “I was wondering if you could explain your reasoning for the mandatory courses.”

She laughed. “Did you know, you’re the first person brave enough to ask? I’ve taken to talking loudly about it around other people since no one else will.” She straightened a bit in her seat, fixing the entirety of her attention on Percy.

“My mum thought that all wixen ought to know how to at least navigate the muggle world, and I quite agree. My brother and I spent a great deal of time in muggle London, you know, and the few wixen we saw stuck out like a sore thumb. If we’re going to live among them, we ought to at least _learn_ about them, in my opinion.”

Percy nodded. “Yes, I quite agree. Hardly anyone takes muggle studies. And about the – ah – other -?”

Rose grinned. She knew this was what Percy _really_ wanted to ask about. He really wasn’t that subtle, the poor dear. “I don’t want to force muggle-raised students to follow the Old Ways, I assure you. I’m just friends with a lot of them, and they’re upset that they had to find out about it for themselves. Harry and I just think that they ought to be able to choose which practices they follow.”

The older boy looked thoughtful. “I hadn’t thought about it like that,” he said. “You’re right, it’s all politics of course – but they _should_ be able to choose, shouldn’t they?”

Rose nodded vigorously. “Yes! People like you and Ernie – you know the practices and choose not to follow them and that’s completely fine, but muggle-raised students need to _actively_ work to find that information and it’s not fair!”

Percy nodded slowly. “Yes, I – I quite agree,” he said, looking surprised at himself. “My apologies, Rose, I hadn’t thought of it like that –“

She grinned teasingly. “I assure you, Percy, I’m not a blood purist.”

He flushed vividly. “I didn’t – I never – “

“No, but people were thinking it, weren’t they? It’s alright – I knew it was coming, but it’s nice to have someone ask.”

“I’ll set them right,” Percy assured her firmly. “It isn’t fair that they just _assume_.“

“Thanks, Percy,” Rose said sincerely, as if this wasn’t what she’d been hoping for. She really _did_ admire his principles though; he reminded her a bit of Hermione, except more pompous. “I appreciate it.”

The other boy patted her shoulder. Before he could leave, however, Jasmine Gallagher leaned around him. Behind her gathered a few other students in the class; Rose hadn’t even noticed their arrival.

“Sorry,” Gallagher said, blushing a bit. “But I couldn’t help but overhear and I’ve been wanting to ask – “

Rose giggled and hopped onto her desk, perching on it so she wouldn’t have to strain her neck. “Ask away!”

“Well, I was wondering what you knew about the ballroom? I’ve been asking around and no one but the portraits seem to know what that’s about – “

“Oh!” Rose perked up visibly. “It’s really cool, Professor Sprout mentioned it when she showed us the Hogwarts Common Room. I asked her about it later, it’s another magically-dense room that’s been absorbed out of disuse, but I’ve asked the ghosts and we used to have balls every Yule. Really, I just wanted to see what everyone else thought,” Rose said, ducking her head. A light blush dusted her cheeks.

“No, I think that’s brilliant – balls would be ever so lovely, wouldn’t they?” Gallagher said, turning to her girlfriend, Nadia Williams. “We miss out on all the parties here at Hogwarts – be nice to have some of our own too.”

Katelyn Garrison nodded. “And to look forward to something other than quidditch.”

Then Professor Babbling came into the room, and everyone scattered back to their seats. Rose saw the contemplative and excited looks on people’s faces though – really, she hadn’t had to do much at all. All she’d needed was a way to get the idea into the general population, and things snowballed from there. It was lovely, watching her plans come to fruition with so little effort on her part.

Rookwood had given her a searching look when he sat down next to her.

“I do hope you know what you’re doing, Potter,” he’d muttered.

She’d smiled back sunnily. “I _always_ know what I’m doing, Rookwood.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me make myself clear: I'm not trying to apologize for Lucius Malfoy's actions. At this point in time, he's a terrible person who saw fit to involve children in a game of politics, which obviously backfired. Rose enjoys speaking with him, but she's not trying to defend him - she's trying to turn him away from Voldemort to erode Voldemort's support base. Lucius'll get his own chapter POV in third year, where I can hopefully develop him as a character


	31. Year 2, Part 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies in advance for how choppy this chapter is :')) it's definitely not my favorite, but the next one's better, I promise :')

_THE MISUNDERSTOOD LEGACY OF SALAZAR SLYTHERIN_

_April 7 th, 1993_

_An expos_ _é by: Rita Skeeter_

_Two weeks ago, Harry and Rose Potter, our very own Survivors, lived up to their name yet again by overcoming incredible odds and defeating the dark artifact that was opening the Chamber of Secrets, saving Draco Malfoy, only son of Lord Lucius Malfoy, in the process. This alone would be incredible enough, but in the process of their escape, Harry Potter slew the enormous basilisk within, making him the youngest basilisk slayer in recorded history and the first one in four hundred years. Basilisk parts are some of the most expensive per pound – the most recent numbers value a single scale at up to 10 galleons._

_Not only is our hero kind, he is also generous. Many of us former Hogwarts students suffered under Binns, the ghost who taught History of Magic. Yes, dear readers, I said **taught,** because Harry Potter donated his portion of the basilisk, a fortune on par with that of several noble families, to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, on the condition that it be used to hire a new History of Magic professor. _

_“History is important,” the boy himself told me in an exclusive interview. His brilliantly green eyes shone with the force of his passion, leaving this reporter in awe. “History, tradition – it **means** something in our world. We deserve to know this world we have been lucky enough to be born into, to learn more about it than just goblin wars.” _

_But that’s not all! As the hubbub died down, Harry Potter and his sister revealed yet another ground-breaking discovery, this time about one of the school’s founders._

_Dear readers, I myself foolishly believed that Salazar Slytherin was a blood supremacist. I falsely reported, when the Chamber first opened, that the man felt muggleborns unworthy of magic, and left the monster inside the Chamber to finish his work._

_But we were, all of us, wrong._

_Salazar Slytherin left a stone tablet in the Chamber. Upon that tablet, he instructed his descendants to use the Chamber to shelter the students of Hogwarts should the castle ever be invaded. As they waited, safe in the belly of Hogwarts, the basilisk would roam the halls of Hogwarts, killing intruders with its deadly gaze. Supplies would be delivered by both the basilisk, named Selena, and Fawkes, whom was once believed Albus Dumbledore’s familiar. Unfortunately, an incident in 1943 drove Selena mad, and Harry Potter was forced to put her out of her misery._

_So, dear readers, we were wrong. Salazar Slytherin never wanted to drive muggleborns from the castle – he wanted to protect them. There were Parselscript journals and documents that Harry and Rose Potter generously donated to Oxford University where they are currently being studied by Maitri Asan, famous historian and Parselmouth. She confirms what the Potters have said based on those documents._

_“There is no evidence that Salazar Slytherin ever disdained those of muggle ancestry,” Ms. Asan told me. “On the contrary, these documents proved he was their advocate, worried of the harm they might come to at the hands of muggles. You must remember, magic was still feared during this time. Salazar’s own mother was burned for being a witch.”_

_So, there you have it. Several groundbreaking discoveries and revelations, one after another, all thanks to a 12-year-old boy and his sister. Harry and Rose Potter did more than save us from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named that October night in 1981 – they have now saved Slytherin’s legacy as well. It is perhaps ironic that neither of the twins are themselves Slytherins – Harry Potter is a Gryffindor, and Rose Potter a Hufflepuff. In their scant two years at Hogwarts, they have already made history once more._

_For more on the once-believed rumors of Salazar Slytherin’s departure from Hogwarts, see page 6_

_For a history of Parseltongue and Parselscript, see page 11_

_For a brief biography of Harry Potter and his accomplishments, see page 12_

* * *

“Good morning,” Rose chirped, popping a strawberry into her mouth. Susan smacked her with her newspaper.

“Merlin, Rose, give us a warning at least!”

“Before what?” Rose asked innocently.

“Before – before – this!” she gestured incoherently to the Great Hall, which had erupted into whispers and the occasional cry of denial.

Rose smirked. “You mean you’re not enjoying the chaos?”

“We definitely are!” Fred and George chorused, leaning over from the Gryffindor table.

“Truly exceptional marauding,” Fred agreed.

Rose looked down her nose snottily. “Well, I _am_ the second generation.”

The two exchanged wide-eyed looks.

_“You know the Marauders?!”_

“Do I _know_ the Marauders? Gentlemen, I _live_ with the Marauders.”

She caught Harry’s eye over their shoulder and grinned as George’s knees gave out and he had to be supported by Fred, who’s mouth was opening and closing soundlessly. Behind her, she heard Justin whimper. He didn’t know who the Marauders were, of course, but anything that made the twins’ eyes look like _that_ was something to be feared.

* * *

The fallout from that article was enormous. Everyone in the castle was shell-shocked at first, then either adamantly denounced it as lies or embraced their new truth. Slytherin House seemed to have split down the middle, blood purists and non-believers on one side and everyone else on the other. Actually, _all_ Houses seemed split, between those who believed and those who did not.

Harry and Rose watched the chaos in satisfaction. There was nothing they could do to _force_ people to believe them, after all. All they could do was give them the facts and allow them to make their own opinions, which some were doing for the very first time. It was incredible, watching history in the making. Dumbledore, proving her suspicions correct, gave an impassioned speech to the Wizengamot on history’s misrepresentation of Slytherin.

“Salazar Slytherin was a champion of muggleborns,” Dumbledore had said, his speech broadcasted over the Wireless. “He believed that muggles were dangerous, but times have changed since Slytherin walked the earth. It is time now to shed our prejudices and step forwards into the future.”

Harry and Rose honed their reflexes with the amount of dodging and shielding they were forced to do over those first few days. People across the political spectrum were furious, and students were being sent to the hospital wing at an astonishing rate. It only stopped when Dumbledore reprimanded them all at dinner one night, scolding them for turning their backs on their fellow students over what they believed.

(she listened closely, and thought she noticed tendrils of magic woven into his words)

The attacks died down. The Hogwarts Common Room filled back up. Her friends stopped surrounding Rose wherever she went. There were still arguments, and sometimes those arguments got violent, but it wasn’t anything worse than what usually happened at Hogwarts. With the shadow of the Chamber gone, it was difficult to be angry about anything for long. In a week, things were back to normal. Rose marvelled at the resiliency of the students.

It helped that the next few front-page articles run by the Prophet were interviews with famous historians, all of whom put their support behind the discovery. Apparently Maitri Asan, an obscure figure in popular culture, was widely known and admired amongst academics. Her being a Parselmouth helped reduce the stigma around it as well – people would still look if she hissed with Macha, but it was much better than it had been when it was first revealed. Ms. Asan was another exception, another Parselmouth who wasn’t evil. Given enough time and enough examples, she hoped the stigma would eventually fade.

For now, though, the departure of Binns and the sign she and Harry had posted on the notice board demanded their attention. Professors, now that students were free to go to the library whenever they wanted, began piling back on the homework. The article was soon lost amidst a flood of work, washed away by the waters of daily life.

(Rose wrote a cheque for three hundred galleons and sent it to Skeeter anonymously with a note thanking her for not bugging her, excuse the Muggle idiom, but that was a truly exceptional article – she especially enjoyed how Skeeter had stuck closely to the facts)

(she supposed it had helped to dangle an exclusive interview with Harry Potter in front of her, too)

* * *

Having hidden Macha away after Skeeter’s article, the occamy was brought back out as soon as Rose was sure it was safe. She was large enough to drape across Rose’s shoulders now, like a scarf or cape, around two feet long. Everyone knew about her, and Rose had started a bit of a trend – familiars were uncommon at their age, but not nonexistent. As it turned out, Hufflepuff Prefect Brianna Melton had a raven familiar, whom she’d taken to carrying around on her shoulder whenever it wasn’t flying about outside. Hannah’s kneazle familiar, Mistletoe, was now allowed to follow the girl around, waiting patiently outside classes in a ball of black fluff. Hannah and Filch struck up a friendship just as unlikely as the one between Mistletoe and Mrs. Norris. Hannah, Rose, and Filch could often be found in odd places around the school, the former two helping him clean what couldn’t be done with magic. Familiars weren’t allowed in classes though, and many balked at the thought of leaving them unprotected in the corridors, so mostly they stayed in dorms or outside until classes ended and they could rejoin their bonded.

She suspected it was a direct result of the article, but two people had turned out to have snake familiars: Mabel Lyons of Ravenclaw and Katelyn Garrison of Slytherin. They were friends, with the latter in Rose’s Ancient Runes class, so they felt comfortable finding her in the Hogwarts Common Room and asking her to translate.

It was interesting to speak to new snakes. Neither of the snakes were magical, so despite the familiar bond boosting their intelligence they weren’t quite on Macha’s level, which made the occamy feel very superior. Katelyn Garrison was a muggleborn who’d befriended a garden snake a few years ago, and Mabel Lyons a half-blood whose cousin owned a muggle pet shop.

It was odd to have her Parseltongue being treated like a gift instead of something she had to hide. Odd, but nice.

* * *

Tracey Davis, Emma Vane, and (to everyone’s surprise) Pansy Parkinson were the next few people to join their study group. Davis and Vane were quiet, but Parkinson was surprisingly funny when she wasn’t taunting Harry or Rose. She and Lavender Brown, who’d been quiet since Parvati’s petrification, seemed to have struck up an unlikely friendship, and could often be found exchanging hair care tips and cosmetic charm advice. Rose joined in a few times and pulled Ginny along with her. It was fun, and she got to pass on more of Andromeda’s teachings.

On the topic of Malfoy… Rose had mixed feelings. On one hand, he was a snobby bigot. On the other, he was a twelve-year-old boy with no real friends and who’d nearly died. He’d gotten considerably quieter after Ostara and the Chamber, and though he usually sat with Crabbe and Goyle, the other boys were more followers than friends. Malfoy had always been loud and outspoken, but now he seemed a shell of his former self.

Rose looked at him from the Hufflepuff table and cursed her bleeding heart, but she remembered what it was like to be ostracized and alone. He was a racist arse… but he was also only twelve.

(she remembered the boy who’s eyes had stretched wide with wonder at the sight of Macha, the boy who’d cried in bathrooms and found solace in a friendship with a ghost)

(she remembered the boy who couldn’t bring himself to kill)

(she remembered the boy who hadn’t given her up to Bellatrix Lestrange)

She would try. She owed it to herself – she refused to die with regrets.

(again)

“Don’t follow me,” she sighed, standing up. Her friends gave her questioning looks that bled into ones of horror when they saw who she was approaching. She glanced back and shrugged apologetically as she stopped behind Malfoy. He was sitting across from Crabbe and Goyle, and there was empty space on either side. Small enough to look accidental, but to a Slytherin must’ve felt enormous.

“This seat taken?” she asked.

Malfoy glanced up. “I don’t want your pity, Potter,” he growled.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she decided. “Look, I’m not here out of pity.”

_(I’m here out of guilt)_

“I’d like to apologize,” she said.

He gave her a suspicious look. “What for?”

Rose stared, incredulous. “I set my familiar on you.”

“You saved my life, too.”

“Your life only _needed_ to be saved in part because I set my familiar on you. Even my _friends_ were afraid of me after that.”

“Don’t be a martyring Gryffindor, Potter,” Malfoy said, rolling his eyes. “I made my own choices.”

“Doesn’t mean I didn’t influence them. Does that mean you’ll let me sit here?”

“… Sure, Potter,” Malfoy sighed. “Do whatever you want.”

She took that as permission. Hufflepuffs only had Charms with the Slytherins, but Rose made a point of sitting next to Malfoy in every class, chattering away happily. There wasn’t a single person who didn’t look at her oddly – even Professor Flitwick had done a double take before continuing with the lesson. It was surprisingly fun – Malfoy had all of Blaise’s snobbery with all of Theo’s snark, when he forgot himself enough to talk to her. It was happening more and more often – for all that she’d set her familiar on him, he’d recently had a near-death experience that tended to diminish everything else in comparison. He’d been isolated before the diadem and was even more isolated afterwards, and lonely people were so easy to collect.

(she thought of Neville, who’d thought he was a squib; of Hermione, who’d never had real friends; of Theo, who’d never expected anyone to see beyond his surname)

(they were her friends now, but everyone began as a tool)

* * *

“Afternoon, Malfoy!” Rose chirped. “How’s my favorite blond snob doing on this fine afternoon?”

“Resenting being called a blond snob,” Malfoy sighed irritably.

“It’s not untrue though, is it?” she grinned. Malfoy shot her a poisonous look, but it didn’t have any heat to it.

“Why are you doing this, Potter?”

“You’re fun,” she said simply. “I like fun.” And she gave him her best sunshine beam, happy and innocent and glowing.

“I insult you.”

“You’re fun,” Rose repeated. She nudged him with her hip, sitting down next to him. “Now move over, I want to sit.”

“Why aren’t you sitting with your _friends?”_ he sneered the last word.

“I am!” she chirped. “Pass the strawberries?”

After a week, Malfoy seemed to become resigned to her presence. Her friends accepted it as another one of her schemes. Her acquaintances backed off after a round of he’s-not-that-bad-anymore-and-he’s-only-twelve, paired with puppy-dog eyes. Malfoy hadn’t said the word mudblood since the incident with Macha, after all, which proved he could learn.

She’d asked the Badger Holers how they’d felt about her trying to befriend Malfoy. They’d been uneasy at first, but two days later had finally given her their grudging permission. Surprisingly, it’d been Neville who’d gone first.

“He called me a squib on the train,” he’d said quietly. “That’s why he and Harry didn’t like each other. But… you’re a good person, Rose. If you think he can change, then I’ll be there with you.”

(she thought of the boy crying in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, the boy who’d lied to Bellatrix’s face at Malfoy Manor, the boy who couldn’t bring himself to kill his headmaster)

“Yes,” she’d said. “I think he can.”

She and Neville weren’t particularly close – the other boy was still shy and more Harry’s friend than hers, but she’d been touched by the show of trust. Hermione had followed soon after, and then everyone else had too, so Rose was reassured that she wasn’t betraying her current friends in trying to make this new one.

(if there was one thing she was certain of, it was that Lucius Malfoy loved his son)

* * *

_Dear Miss Potter,_

_It is my great pleasure to invite you to Oxford University over the summer to aid in the translation of the recently donated Parselscript documents. You would have the privilege of working alongside Maitri Asan, renowned Parselmouth historian from the University of Delhi. Please see enclosed documents for details._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Amira Woodstock_

_Dean of Oxford University_

* * *

By Easter, they’d started reviewing for exams in earnest, the Hogwarts Common Room filling to the bursting with tables. Rose pulled out her cue cards and other study materials copied from muggles – she hadn’t needed them in first year, but this year she was taking sixth year Ancient Runes and would be taking her NEWT next year. She needed a good foundation, so she’d owl-ordered over a hundred from Quills & Waterstones.

Hermione gasped. “Are those _magical cue cards?”_

Rose glanced up and given her a confused smile. “Yes? Do they bother you?”

Hermione had shaken her head frantically, curls bouncing. “No, that’s not what I meant – I mean, there are _magical cue cards?_ Where did you get them? How do they work? What – “

Harry had looked up at Hermione’s outburst, as had several other people.

“Oh, _those,”_ Harry grinned. “They’re from that Foundation shop, aren’t they?”

“Quills & Waterstones,” Rose confirmed.

“Waterstones?” Justin repeated. “Like the muggle book chain?”

“One of the heirs is a muggleborn,” Rose explained. “Funny how these things work, isn’t it?”

“What do you mean ‘Foundation shop’?” Hermione asked.

“The Lily Potter Foundation for Muggleborns,” Harry explained, uncharacteristically shy. “Sirius set it up soon after the war. It gives muggleborns business loans and grants, helps fund Masteries, that sort of thing.”

It was also where the proceeds from the Boy-Who-Lived paraphernalia went, but Harry didn’t mention it and Rose followed his lead.

“Oh, that’s _wonderful_ ,” Hermione had said breathlessly.

That had led to Rose explaining how the cue cards worked and exactly how they differed from muggle ones (the tap-and-search feature, shuffling, things like that), and had by the end of her impromptu lecture a number of classmates scribbling off a whole host of owl-order forms to Quills & Waterstones. Hermione had looked so excited she’d nearly been brought to tears.

“This is going to be _so useful_ for memorization!” she’d squealed. “Oh, I’ve missed my cue cards so much, _thank you,_ Rose – “

“I didn’t even do anything,” she’d laughed. “Thank the owner of Quills & Waterstones if you really must.”

(Parkinson, at Vane’s prodding, had grudgingly admitted that muggles really could have good ideas occasionally)

* * *

With the arrival of Easter holidays came also the picking of electives. Rose wanted to discourage Hermione from doing all of them but, well, it wasn’t really any of her business what Hermione chose to do, was it? She’d just be there to make sure her friend got enough to eat and sleep and take care of her as best as she could.

Rose had had to ask Professor Sprout questions about her electives, seeing as she was taking Ancient Runes already. Her Head of House had given her a fond smile and told her that, seeing as she was already taking an elective and had weekly meetings with Madam Pomphrey, it would probably be best to keep herself to one additional elective. Rose had agreed and chosen Arithmancy on the spot. The magic of numbers and spell-crafting was fascinating – she had very, very vague memories of Hermione buzzing over the arithmantic deconstruction of _wingardium leviosa._ Besides, she wanted to learn silent spells again – the things were dead useful but took quite a bit of time to overcome the initial barrier, so she’d need free time for extracurricular studies next year. Hopefully it’d be easier this time around because of her occlumency – honestly, it ought to be a mandatory subject, it made everything so much easier. Her memory was sharper, her emotions less muddled; the only downside was the sheer amount of time it took.

(unless one chose to brute-force it like Snape had done with her in her fifth year, but that came with the side effects of feeling violated and awful headaches)

Harry signed up for Care of Magical Creatures, alongside Neville, Susan, Hermione, and Hannah. He’d also be joining her in Arithmancy, and it seemed her studying Runes had compelled a great deal of her study group to take it as well. It was nice, to have had such an influence on her yearmates.

* * *

(but things couldn’t be that easy, could they?)

* * *

“Rose?” A confused-looking Ginny Weasley tapped her on the shoulder. Rose turned, cutting off her conversation with Lisa Turpin, and glanced at her.

“Ginny? How can I help you?”

“The Headmaster’s called you up to his office,” Ginny told her, frowning.

Rose blinked. “Oh, alright. Thanks, Ginny.”

She grabbed her bag and stuffed her things hastily inside, waving a quick goodbye to her friends before leaving the Hogwarts Common Room. Honestly, she’d been expecting something like this ever since she’d started sitting with Slytherins. She wondered what had done him in – replacing Binns? No, that was widely accepted. Clearing Slytherin’s name? Maybe. Advocating for a Wixen Culture class? … Almost definitely.

Better get Sprout. _In loco parentis,_ after all. She liked Dumbledore – he was funny – but she didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him.

* * *

“Peppermint humbugs,” Professor Sprout told the stone griffin. It turned, allowing them up the spiral staircase. Rose knocked on the door.

“Ah, Miss Potter, come in! Pomona – what a pleasant surprise,” Dumbledore smiled. “Please, have a seat.” He conjured another floral chintz armchair alongside the one in front of his desk. Rose stepped into the familiar, circular room, silver instruments whizzing and twirling away as the previous Headmasters and Headmistresses whispered in their frames. She waved at Phineas Nigellas Black, who smiled back pompously, and sent a grin at Fawkes when the phoenix chirped in greeting. He looked magnificent today, all red and gold feathers and glowing amber eyes.

“Thank you, Professor,” Rose said politely, sinking into her armchair. Beside her, Sprout did the same, folding her hands neatly in front of her. “May I ask what this is about?”

“Of course, of course,” Dumbledore twinkled. “Forgive an old man his forgetfulness. I just wanted to have a little chat, Miss Potter.”

“About what, sir?”

“Well, I’ve noticed that neither yourself nor your brother chose to take Divination,” he said, popping a lemon drop into his mouth. “We’re very lucky to have Professor Trelawney, you know – “ Sprout coughed “- but of course Arithmancy is a worthy pursuit as well.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand, Professor,” Rose said, keeping her hands from clenching into fists through sheer force of will. “Professor Sprout’s already approved my elective choices. Is there a problem?”

“There shouldn’t be,” Professor Sprout said sharply, narrowing her eyes. Rose bit back a smile.

“No, no, not at all,” Dumbledore said. “Everything is in order. I just wondered if perhaps you were labouring under misconceptions when it comes to Divination – a number of our students do.”

“What misconceptions, sir?” Rose asked, curious despite herself. There was just something about Dumbledore’s affable demeanor that drew her in, made her trust him –

She clamped down on her occlumency shields, suddenly cold. That – had Dumbledore been using voice magic on her? That had felt eerily like what she remembered of the confrontation with diadem-Voldemort. She felt suddenly very small and exposed without Harry by her side and took some small amount of comfort in Professor Sprout. There was, at least, one person here who wanted the best for her.

She pulled her concentration back to the conversation – she couldn’t let on that she’d noticed, or even guessed. Rose straightened in her seat and leaned forwards, careful to avoid Dumbledore’s gentle eyes, feeling betrayed.

(“It reminds me too much of the Imperius curse,” Harry had said uneasily. “I’ll use it if I have to, but if I can avoid it…”)

No. That was for later. For now, she had to get through this conversation.

“Well,” Dumbledore said, leaning back in his chair and peering at her over half-moon spectacles, “for one, students often believe that only true Seers gain anything from Divination.”

“Don’t they, sir?”

“On the contrary,” Dumbledore said, eyes sparkling. He looked genuinely pleased at the opportunity to impart new knowledge, and she felt a pang of loss. What could he have become, if he hadn’t gotten so involved in politics? If he hadn’t…

But he was still speaking.

“Divination, although imprecise,” and here Professor Sprout snorted derisively, “is nonetheless a valid branch of magic. You’ve covered, I’m sure, the topic of magical cores and auras in your classes?”

“Yes, sir,” Rose confirmed. Each wix produced their own magic, via a mechanism not yet known, storing it in what was referred to as a magical core. One’s aura was an extension of that core. There was a way to measure its strength and affinity – Light, Dark, or Grey – but it was highly invasive and painful, so it was only done when absolutely necessary.

“One of the prevailing magical theories at the moment is that magic is probability,” Dumbledore said. “In manipulating our magic, we manipulate probability. For instance, in casting a levitation charm, we supply an external source of energy that rearranges the very molecules of an object, changing their trajectories. It follows, then, that the magic we exude through our auras affects divination foci in such a way as to show our _own_ probabilities.”

Rose stared, just barely remembering not to meet his eyes. That was…

“That’s _brilliant,”_ she breathed, eyes alight with wonder. “But if magic is probability, then shouldn’t there be a chance for even a perfectly-cast spell to fail?”

“Just as there is a chance that our molecules will arrange in such a way that this deluminator,” and here Dumbledore tapped a silver instrument Rose pretended not to recognize, “falls straight through this desk?”

“It _is_ possible,” Rose murmured in understanding. “But just because it’s possible – “

“Does not mean it is probable,” Dumbledore finished, smiling. “You understand, I take it?”

“Yes, I understand,” Rose said, not bothering to hide her awe. Magic truly was incredible. “But sir… I don’t know if I can give up Arithmancy for Divination, no matter how interesting it is. I’m already going to have a NEWT next year, and I’ve got my weekly lessons with Madam Pomphrey.”

“I urge you to try it out, at the very least, Miss Potter,” Dumbledore said softly. “This is an excellent opportunity for you to expand your horizons.”

That brought Rose back to earth. She blinked, thoughts clearing of residual wonder, mind whirring. If she refused, Dumbledore would likely just try again, only with Harry, and she wanted her brother to spend as little time around the Headmaster as possible. Besides, Dumbledore was an excellent manipulator – he knew exactly how to elicit her wonder, her awe of magic, to draw her in. She really _did_ want to take Divination now, damn it all.

“Miss Potter,” Professor Sprout began, sounding affronted. “You’ve a heavy workload already. You don’t have to do anything – “

“It’s alright, Professor,” Rose said, smiling at her Head of House. “I’ll find the time somehow, I imagine.”

“Ah,” Dumbledore said, beaming happily. “Speaking of time…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (also, how the hell does one write a good Dumbledore??? ugh)


	32. Year 2, Part 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to everyone reading/commenting/subscribing <3

“Excited for Beltane?” Rose grinned. It was the last day of April, and she’d decided to eat at the Gryffindor table. Her schedule had all but fallen apart, but that was fine – what with her own bucking of the trend, as well as the Hogwarts Common Room fostering inter-House friendships, the House tables were now more suggestion than rule.

(sometimes, it overwhelmed her, the sheer scale of the impact she was having)

“Definitely,” Neville said, grinning. “Gran’s finally letting me join in.”

“Will you be joining us as well?” Rose asked, glancing at the others.

Hermione beamed. Susan and Justin nodded vigorously, Hannah less so. Padma, who’d returned to school after the Chamber incident, gave a small smile. Ron looked hesitant.

“That’s the… fire thing, isn’t it?” he asked, blue eyes tentative.

Hermione slid into her lecture tone. “It celebrates the coming of summer and fertility of mind, body, and sprit.”

“It’s the fire thing,” Susan sighed in response to Ron’s glazed look. “There’s going to be an enormous bonfire on the grounds tonight – you jump over it to bring good luck.”

“And wear flower crowns,” Neville added, grinning. 

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Ron said cautiously.

“You should join,” Harry said encouragingly. He’d gotten over Ron’s insult last Samhain and was now determined to absorb the boy into their study group. She suspected he was also just plain curious about the person who’d been her best friend in another life.

“Er… maybe next year,” he mumbled, looking away. Harry slumped a little in disappointment. Rose gave him a commiserating smile, which he returned.

“It’s a good night for planting,” Neville said, awkwardly trying to change the subject. “I’ll be spending most of the night in the greenhouses with the rest of the Herbology club,” he said, grinning ruefully.

Dean looked awkward. “Er, no offense mate, but I’d rather…”

Neville grinned good-naturedly. “It’s not a problem. I’ll be joining you all afterwards anyways – Gran says I need the luck,” he finished ruefully.

“Don’t think like that,” Justin chided good-naturedly. “You can make your own luck, mate.”

There was an awkward silence as all the wixen-raised remembered the illegal ritual for Beltane flower crowns. Justin’s face fell.

“Oh, Merlin, what’d I say?”

(the flower crowns used on Beltane were now conjured, the ritual to impart a greater amount of luck having been outlawed by the Ministry. Once, students would’ve had the day off on Beltane to make their own crowns, weaving it together with flowers from the forest and from home. They would’ve surrounded the crown in stones plucked from the lake, murmured words in Celtic, and dripped fresh blood onto the delicate petals as they burst into flames. The crowns would’ve hummed with primal, elemental magic. Then they would’ve worn those crowns to the bonfire that night, dancing and laughing as the magic of the night and crown seeped into their cores)

(but blood magic was Dark and therefore Evil, and so the good luck imparted on Beltane was weaker)

* * *

Beltane was one of the more popular festivals, if only because it was so much fun. As night fell, she and Hermione made their way barefoot from the castle, wearing undyed linen and cotton robes. The bonfire had already begun – they could see it burning at the edge of the lake, an enormous thing twice her height. Everyone else was already there – she and Hermione had stayed behind to finish up an Herbology essay.

“We have to jump over _that?”_ Hermione asked, appalled.

“It’s easier than it looks,” Rose grinned. “You’ll see.” She felt giddy, as she always did during a ritual. She could feel the magic of the earth with each step she took. The closer they drew to the fire, the wilder the magic in the air became. There was something primal about this night, this festival, that made her want to dance. She inhaled; this was her first Beltane festival, and she’d never felt anything like this.

Hermione let out a delighted, giddy laugh. “Let’s run!”

They held hands and sprinted towards the bonfire. As they neared, they saw the sparks shooting from the fire flutter briefly before dissipating. Rose felt a pull – she wanted to walk through the fire, she wanted to fly, she wanted to lay down on the grass and _relish_ in the magic of the world.

Tonight, she was twelve, outside on a night with magic humming in the air and rippling in her blood. As people started dancing and singing, butterflies formed from the flames, fluttering around the revelers, trailing sparks in their wake. Someone put a flower crown on her head. They joined the crowd, dancing, words coming to her lips she’d long-since memorized.

_“Leig le lasraichean criosan losgadh,_

_Gun till na seann fheadhainn a-nis,_

_Is dòcha gun ionnsaich sinn den draoidheachd aca,_

_Leig leis an neach-cadail dùsgadh!”_

Rose leaped over the bonfire and felt her magic lifting her up above the flames, a gentle tingle in the very fiber of her being lightening her body. She flew ten feet into the air and glided, landing gently on the other side. On this night, the Beltane fire wouldn’t touch her.

One of the fire butterflies landed on her flower crown and set the whole thing alight. Rose twirled. Someone lit the end of an ash branch from the fire atop her head and they danced. In the darkness, they could’ve been anyone.

* * *

Defence club meetings began after the Easter holidays. Beltane had given all its participants a boost of happiness and good fortune, and they were still riding the residual high. Their steps were lighter, their smiles easier, their laughs louder.

As it was, the bruise balm Rose had brewed what felt like years ago finally got some use as they learned the Stunning Spell _._ Harry would occasionally add tidbits about defending against magical creatures, but it was difficult with him not being a proper teacher. They’d written to Remus about it, hoping the werewolf tutor could give them ideas. After all, if their plan worked, Lockhart would be gone by the end of the year.

* * *

By the middle of May, the mandrakes had matured. While the Great Hall rejoiced over the rejuvenated students, the students themselves balked at the prospect of catching up, and Padma and Parvati hugged each other in a burst of tears, Blaise had questions. Or, rather, one question.

“… Whatever happened to that ghost who petrified?” he muttered to her. He was sitting at the Hufflepuff table today.

“Oh!” Rose had to clap a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing. “I had to get him to the hospital wing with a _ventus._ Apparently we just need to wait for the magic to dissipate. He ought to just fine in September.”

“Really,” Blaise mused. “That’s… huh. A _ventus?_ Really?”

“Really,” Rose confirmed, giggling. “It was absurd.”

It really had been. There was nothing quite like the experience of sending a ghost to the hospital wing by blowing out gusts of wind from the end of one’s wand, carefully controlled to prevent the ghost from drifting too far in any one direction. It’d been headache-inducing and complicated, and one of the oddest things she’d done to date.

(speaking of ghosts… that reminded her - )

(but perhaps that was best saved for next year, when she had more time)

* * *

Rose had taken to glancing up at the High Table every meal, something her friends had noticed.

“Don’t tell me you’ve suddenly developed a crush on Lockhart,” Susan begged. Justin and Ernie, looking appropriately horrified, nodded fervently.

Rose pulled a face. “Don’t be silly, of course not. I’m just waiting for something, is all.”

“What?” Justin asked eagerly.

Rose said nothing but gave him a sly smile. “You’ll see.”

“Merlin, you’re worse than Zabini,” he sighed.

She and Harry had gotten the confirmation call from Sirius the other day – the lawyers had finally submitted their evidence to the DMLE.

* * *

 _LOCKHART: A FAKE?_ The headlines blared one morning. Rose glanced at it, then up at the High Table where Lockhart had gone grey, and smirked.

* * *

The fallout was, if anything, worse than the Slytherin article fiasco. Her friends had pounced on her immediately, demanding to know how she’d known, and she’d fended them off until Harry had made his way to her side and they’d explained.

They’d suspected Lockhart as a fake since their first class, they said. They’d written to Sirius, who’d hired a team of lawyers and private investigators with the nigh-infinite Black fortune and sic’d them on Lockhart, digging into his history and gathering evidence. Sirius hadn’t been able to tell them anything, but he’d confirmed that they ought to look in the papers for an announcement any day now.

(it wasn’t much of a lie; the timeline had only been shifted back a few weeks, after all)

Some of their peers, like Sally-Anne Perks, who’d never liked Rose, had been skeptical, but that had quickly dissipated when Susan had gotten a confirmation letter from her aunt, and Lockhart had vanished by lunchtime. The DMLE were hot on his trail though, Amelia had assured Susan, so they oughtn’t worry. The man was being arrested on charges of fraud, illegal Memory Charms, and child endangerment. There was an announcement in the Prophet that recommended all Hogwarts students get checked for memory charm residue, which could be caught and reversed within a year of the charm.

The vast majority of the school, who’s feelings towards Lockhart had gone past murderous weeks ago, hailed them yet again as heroes. The entirety of Slytherin and Ravenclaw cheered for them (save Marietta Edgecomb and Patricia Stimpson, who’d been avoiding Rose since their attack and subsequent humiliation).

The only major incident was Hermione’s outrage at the loss of their DADA professor right before exams.

“We have the defence club, Hermione,” Rose had comforted. “Besides, you can’t have really wanted to study Lockhart’s books anyways.”

“But our _exams,_ Rose!” Hermione had wailed.

That evening, Dumbledore had announced a pass-fail system for all students taking Defence, save those taking their OWL or NEWT in the subject. _Those_ students would be receiving packages and funding for tutors so they could take their exams over the summer. 

It wasn’t as viscerally satisfying as Lockhart being ‘impaled upon his own sword,’ as Dumbledore had once put it, but Rose thought this was better. His name was being dragged through the mud now, mind Healers working overtime on his victims in an effort to try and reverse the damage. Rose didn’t have much hope, but at least there _was_ hope. Lockhart’s assets had been confiscated and was in the process of being distributed to those whom he’d cheated. For Lockhart, who put so much value on his reputation, this was undoubtedly far more painful.

(there was also, as Lucius Malfoy informed her, the fact that Dumbledore now had to justify his hiring of Lockhart. It wasn’t much, but it might be enough to weaken his reputation to implement Wixen Culture classes)

* * *

Rose was immensely grateful for her friend’s dueling practices and for the Defence club, which had now tripled in size. They’d split off into two groups, one for more advanced students and another for everyone else, with Cedric and Professor Flitwick heading the former and Harry, Susan, and Neville the latter. Since one’s placement in the group was decided by Professor Flitwick, there wasn’t much grounds on which to complain. As it was, there were several very unhappy seventh years in Harry’s group, which had quickly faded once Harry had faced them down in a duel. There had also been several side eyes when Rose had joined the advanced group, but that had quickly stopped once she’d shot to the top of the group, casting fourth- and fifth-year spells as easily as everyone else.

They’d only ever reenacted his books in Lockhart’s class, with him casting wary glances at her every half-hour or so, so those few poor souls who hadn’t self-studied or joined the Defence club (mainly the blood purists and those who thought that she and Harry were Dark) had a great deal of trouble on the exam. Rose, who was well on her way to casting _expelliarmus_ silently, nevertheless grinned at Snape as she demonstrated the spell.

“Thanks for the demonstration, Professor!” she chirped. “It was terribly useful.”

She was lying through her teeth, but liked to think she saw a glint of amusement in Snape’s eyes anyways.

Her other exams were a mite harder than they’d been in first year, but she still topped her year by a wide margin in every subject save Herbology, where Neville had once again decisively beaten everyone else. Rose delighted in his pleased flush as she congratulated him.

Thanks in part (Rose liked to think) to the challenge she’d issued at the Leaving Feast last year, Hufflepuff won the House Cup. She and Harry had both refused points for the Chamber incident, arguing that they’d survived through luck, not skill, and therefore deserved perhaps ten points at the most. Dumbledore still made a show of awarding those ten points in front of the entire school, but Rose was still proud that her House had managed to win the Cup without a hint of favoritism. They hadn’t won in over twelve years, after all, and it was like an explosion had gone off at the table when Dumbledore congratulated them.

Even better, there were more calls of friendly competition from the other three Houses. She saw Ginny shaking her fist playfully at them, Lisa and Padma clapping, Theo grinning.

It was the best end to the year she’d ever had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We hit Lockhart right where it hurt, but the git got away!! This won't be the last time we see him, rest assured ;)  
> Next chapter will be an interlude from Snape's POV


	33. Interlude: Severus Snape

**March 21 st, 1993 **

“They’re lying,” he said the moment he came into Albus’ office. It was the night after the Chamber debacle, and Severus was still seething over Lucius putting Draco in danger over a piece of bloody legislation. He didn’t care how stupid or damaging the Muggle Protection Act was, Draco was his bloody _godson_ and he’d nearly _died._ He’d been possessed by a shade of the bloody Dark Lord, that sort of thing left marks on a person. Of course, that was assuming the story the Potter twins had told was true, which it was not.

Oh, the girl was an excellent liar – had it not been for her brother and Draco, he wouldn’t have been suspicious at all. But the boys had barely spoken, something that was most definitely unlike both of them. The Potter boy barely shut up in class, the arrogant little twat, just like his father. The girl (and it was slowly getting less painful to look at her; it helped that her eyes were just a shade less bright) had told most of the story, weaving a fantastical tale of basilisks and phoenixes and the Sorting Hat that would’ve been unbelievable had the boy not been clutching _Godric Gryffindor’s lost sword_ (and who the _hell_ had decided to put a _sword_ in a _hat_?). The boy had deferred to his sister, subtly, nigh-unnoticeably, a half-glance here and aborted movement there, and Severus had only caught him because his life had once depended on accurately reading those around him.

(Draco had barely spoken at all)

“Oh, I’m aware,” Albus said mildly, folding his hands neatly in front of him. On its perch, the overgrown turkey crooned. Severus resisted the urge to curse the both of them, but it was a near thing.

“Well?” he snapped, allowing himself to pace. “What are you going to do about it?”

“Absolutely nothing,” the infuriating old goat said cheerfully. “You see, I, unlike you, trust Mr. and Miss Potter to do what’s best for the school. We all have secrets, Severus.”

Thankfully, Albus didn’t go on about the sanctity of privacy – they both knew he didn’t give a rat’s arse about the privacy of children, what with the way he threw legilimency around like those damned lemon drops. But still.

“Why?” he demanded, whirling on his heel. “They’re hiding something, Headmaster, something big. You think I can’t tell these things, after everything I’ve done?”

“Not at all,” Albus said. “I trust your judgement, Severus, and I quite agree. I simply don’t think it’s cause for concern. You see,” he said, cutting Severus off when he made to interrupt him, “I simply trust _their_ judgement as well.”

“They’re _children,”_ he snarled.

(Lily’s children)

“Fawkes likes them.”

Severus stared. He could not help it. Was he the only sane person in this school?

“You’re letting them lie to you about a situation that, might I remind you, includes a _basilisk_ and _the Dark Lord,_ because _your bird likes them?”_

“Fawkes doesn’t belong to me,” Albus said, frowning disapprovingly, as if that was the part of his question he took most issue with. “Besides, he is a very good judge of character. And,” he added, correctly interpreting his expression of complete and utter disdain for that statement, “I believe I already know why they are lying. It’s quite simple – they don’t trust me.”

(there was an unspoken _but they will_ at the end that made the hairs on Severus’ neck stand up)

“They’re _twelve,”_ Severus emphasized. Who gave a shit whether or not they trusted him?! He _knew_ Albus was a good enough legilimens to bypass whatever protection their family rings gave them.

“They are also surprisingly accomplished occlumens,” he added. “I could not look into their minds without eye contact, which neither of them gave.”

Ah. So that was the real reason. He simply hadn’t had an opportunity to intrude upon their minds. Severus supposed the bullshit about the bird was just his own internal justification for not trying harder. Now that he thought about it… neither of the two met _his_ eyes either. He’d have to think about the implications of that later, preferably with a tall glass of firewhiskey in hand, since as far as he knew, his ability as a legilimens was secret. Or it was meant to be, anyways.

Merlin, he was too old for this.

“Fine,” he ground out. “I suppose they don’t trust you because of their _guardians?”_ he couldn’t help sneering that last word – Black had nearly fed him _to a werewolf_ as a teenager, and Albus had allowed him to raise two children. It was a wonder they were as well-adjusted as they were, truly.

“Perhaps,” Albus hummed. “I suppose we have no choice but to wait and see.”

“Wait and see,” Severus mocked. “While, I suppose, the mark on my arm grows ever darker?”

Granted, that was a bit of an exaggeration. The Dark Mark _had_ darkened, but that had been back in mid September, and only by a shade or two. It had lightened again today for the first time, meaning that it _absolutely_ had something to do with the Boy-Who-Lived-to-Torment-Severus and his sister. If only he could figure out _what._

“Has it darkened again?” Albus asked, looking concerned for the first time. Severus pushed down a prickle of guilt – this was what he’d _wanted,_ goddammit, it didn’t matter that the man had only just returned to Hogwarts.

“No,” he admitted. “In fact, it has returned to its original state.”

Albus looked relieved. Severus very carefully did not feel the same.

“Then, I don’t believe there is anything to worry about,” he declared, and Severus made a frustrated noise he would deny ever producing.

“Fine! Fine,” he said, whirling around to storm from the Headmaster’s office. “But when they bring back the Dark Lord by accident because _you_ refused to press them, I’m going to say I told you so.”

He slammed the door shut to the sound of Albus’ chuckles. By Merlin, he needed a drink.

* * *

Safe and alone in his office, Severus exhaled, and finally allowed his hands to tremble.

* * *

He hadn’t thought much of the Potter twins when they’d first arrived at Hogwarts. All he’d seen was carbon copies of their parents, the boy with his mother’s eyes and the girl with a pale imitation. As long as he didn’t look the boy in the eye, it was easy to torment him – he focused on the hair, the skin, the nose; and ignored the eyes, ignored the thought in the back of his head of _Lily would hate you for this,_ ignored the added whisper of _but your father would be proud._

(she was dead, wasn’t she? And who’s fault was that?)

(the only friend he’d ever had – dead at his hands)

They performed… adequately… in Potions (the wolf’s influence, no doubt, Black had always been terrible at the art) and stayed out of trouble, and that was all he could bring himself to care about. There were no reports of bullying from either of them (well, of course the girl wasn’t a bully, she was a copy of Lily and a _Hufflepuff),_ so Severus ignored them outside of class. It wasn’t until the end of their first year that he truly paid attention to them.

Albus had been about to give last-minute points (“recent events” indeed) in a blatant show of favoritism when the girl had interrupted him in a friendly acknowledgement of Slytherin’s victory over Hufflepuff. It was, he grudgingly admitted to himself, clever – Albus couldn’t exactly speak out against such Hufflepuffian fairness and good-naturedness, could he? It alone had made him wonder – there’d been a spark of satisfaction in her eyes that spoke of a well-executed plan, but that was impossible. She was a _Hufflepuff,_ for Merlin’s sake. He resolved to think on it later, but then –

But then.

Then Slytherin _responded._

Granted, it’d only been the Zabini boy. But the Zabinis were a powerhouse in the Wizengamot when they wanted to be. Mainly they stayed out of politics, but for the heir to befriend the Potter girl and give her such an obvious show of support… that was telling. He’d heard rumors of that friendship but dismissed them – whoever heard of a Hufflepuff and a Slytherin being friends? Pomona was alright, but the average Slytherin would eat the average Hufflepuff alive. And for all that she was top of her year, Lily’s daughter was definitely the quintessential Hufflepuff. Endlessly affable, cheerful, good-natured… how could _she_ be friends with a Slytherin? How could _she_ be friends with _that_ Slytherin?

Then he watched her downright friendly interactions with Nott and Greengrass, brush Malfoy off like it was nothing, and – was that _Peregrine Derrick_ smirking at her? What the fuck? How the everloving hell had he missed this?

(he remembered the look in Lily’s eyes when he’d hurt her sister)

(he remembered the three weeks Avery and Mulciber had spent in the hospital wing after cursing Mary MacDonald)

(he remembered what a vicious, cruel girl Lily had been)

(and wondered)

* * *

**September 2 nd, 1992**

No one but he and Albus knew about the wards he’d put on the entrance to the Slytherin common room. He liked to keep an eye on his Slytherins, monitoring their comings and goings and making sure they were being properly sneaky about it. That was how he knew Rose Potter had entered the Slytherin common room.

_What the fuck._

(he’d noticed the incident at the Slytherin table, of course he had, but the girl had left, her brother had followed, and he’d assumed the boy had calmed her down when they’d returned fifteen minutes later)

He’d been on his way to his office but went instead to his rooms the moment the wards alerted him to the intrusion. There was a secret passage connecting it to a one-way mirror in the common room, and as he made his way over to the mirror, he looked through the makeshift window and saw –

_What the **fuck.**_

Rose Potter bloody _hissed,_ because she was a Parselmouth apparently, and _the common room responded._ He felt the wards tighten and knew it’d been locked down – something only he and the Headmaster could do. When had Potter known this? _How_ had Potter known this?

Shock was written all over everyone’s face, save one.

Draco Malfoy. His godson.

He was bound to the sofa he’d been sitting in, alone and vulnerable and afraid as Potter stalked towards him with a predatory grace no student should have, let alone a twelve-year-old _Hufflepuff._ She gave another hiss and Severus shuddered at the sound as a serpent came alive from a chandelier, falling to the ground and curling protectively around Potter’s feet.

How had he misjudged her so badly? How –

(how did she remind him so much of the Dark Lord?)

(the dangerous air around her, the way she fixed her gaze upon Draco like he was nothing, the cold smile curling her lips - )

She sat on the coffee table. Every fiber of Severus’ being wanted to barge in and defend his godson like some reckless Gryffindor, but even he couldn’t break through the common room’s wards.

(he’d tried, when they’d first locked, but the magic of the common room had hissed and snapped at him and he’d retreated. Any more, and he’d alert the girl to his presence)

He could only stand here, and watch.

(he’d been a spy – he knew when to stand back)

“I told you I’d see you after dinner,” Potter said cheerfully. “Did you doubt me? After calling my mother a _filthy mudblood?”_ she asked, voice ending in a snarl.

The eyes were different, but the emotions were the same. Lily’d looked like that, face twisted in righteous anger, when she’d heard about Mary MacDonald.

( _Mary’s my_ friend _,_ she’d hissed. _And they did_ what _to her?)_

He felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. He’d tried to stop Lily then, too, but she’d been a tempest when she was angry, destroying everything in her path.

This girl wasn’t Lily. This girl had simmered and planned and stoked her anger. This girl was James, stringing up children by their ankles, James’ planned ruthlessness and Lily’s righteous fury all rolled into one person.

This girl was terrifying.

And there was nothing he could do.

* * *

(he lied to Albus, when the man asked)

(for all that she’d... disturbed... him, she was still Lily’s daughter, and he’d promised to protect Lily’s children, not obey Albus)

* * *

 _(what did you_ do, _Lily? Avery and Mulciber are in the hospital wing!)_

_(don’t worry about it, Sev)_

* * *

The next day, the girl was back to her usual cheerful self, chatting and laughing with her friends.

(he’d wondered how the girl had been planning on bringing Slytherin’s blood purists to heel in her crusade to unite the Houses)

(he supposed now he had his answer)

_Lily, you would have been proud._

(if her mother had been a tempest, this girl was an ice storm)

(and he had no intention of standing in its path)

* * *

(he tried to tone back his taunting of the second years)

(if she reacted like _that_ to someone insulting her mother, what would she do to a man who’d insulted her brother for years?)

(he was an adult and she a child, but she would be powerful one day – good Slytherins always knew these things)

* * *

_(Madam Pomphrey said they won’t be leaving the hospital wing for two weeks)_

_(they attacked my friend. They deserved what they got. I’d do the same if it were you)_

* * *

**October 24 th, 1992**

“Idiot boy,” he snarled, gripping Draco’s shoulder. “We wanted to reveal him as a Parselmouth, not _provoke_ him by attacking his sister.”

His godson glared up at him mutinously. “It worked, didn’t it?” Draco scowled. “Besides – “

They were in his office, immediately after the Dueling Club debacle. Severus had no doubt at all that, even as they spoke, the Potter twins were planning revenge. He kept an eye on the part of him that was tied to the Slytherin common room wards.

“That’s not the point,” Severus snapped. “Have you learned so little from the last time you angered a Potter?”

Ashamed, Draco looked down. He mumbled something incomprehensible.

“Louder, if you would,” Severus said, regaining his calm. He remembered the look in Lily’s eyes when she’d heard of what had happened to Mary MacDonald – the Potter boy had had that exact same look.

(acid, poisonous green, blazing with the force of their anger)

“I didn’t mean to,” Draco muttered. “It just… it just happened.”

Severus was about to snap something else, but something about the way Draco said it gave him pause.

“Show me,” he ordered, a hint of fear sneaking into his voice. Obediently, hearing this fear, Draco raised his eyes and slid off his heir ring, lowering his occlumency shields.

_“Legilimens.”_

**_He was standing on the dueling platform, Potter across from him._ **

**_“Remember the plan,” Uncle Severus whispered. Draco smirked, eyeing Potter like a piece of fresh meat. Oh, he did. Conjure a snake, reveal Potter as a Parselmouth, and watch the fallout. The fact that it would turn suspicions onto Potter and away from Slytherin House was entirely incidental, of course._ **

**_(Goyle had been sent to the hospital wing yesterday morning. He was fine now, and the boy was more vassal than friend, but it was the closest thing Draco had and he_ mattered)**

Severus frowned, focusing on the details of the memory. It sharpened at the urging of his magic.

**_Draco raised his wand. For an instant, Potter’s eyes seemed to flash -_ **

The memory wavered and blurred, the emotions taking on a hazy feel reminiscent of the Imperius Curse.

**_Draco wanted revenge. How dare this boy strut through the halls as if he owned the place? How dare he not recognize Draco as his superior? He was only a filthy half-blood, far below Draco –_ **

**_(but hadn’t his sister taken down Draco with a word? Hadn’t Draco been wondering about - )_ **

**_No, Potter was an arrogant twat with delusions far above his station, and Draco needed to make him suffer the consequences, make him see that the world did not lie at his feet._ **

**_His aim shifted, pointing towards that spot of auburn in his vision._ **

**_(but hadn’t she warned Draco what would happen if - )_ **

**_(wasn’t Draco starting to question - )_ **

**_(wasn’t he starting to wonder - )_ **

**“Serpensortia!” _he snarled._**

Severus slid out of Draco’s mind like a bird shedding water. He felt cold.

“Go to the common room,” he said, his lips numb. “We will speak on this after. _Go,”_ he snarled, when Draco hesitated.

The door shut behind him with the click, and Severus allowed himself to slump at his desk.

The flash of red, something Severus wouldn’t have noticed had he not been explicitly looking for it. The wandless, wordless compulsion that somehow got around Draco’s heir ring. The darkening of his mark.

The Dark Lord was within Harry Potter.

Severus was half out of his chair before he caught himself. No, he was a Slytherin – he needed to approach this carefully, delicately.

If the Dark Lord really _was_ within Harry Potter, and Severus told Dumbledore, and the Dark Lord found out… that would be bad. Very bad. Disastrous. Catastrophic, if he would.

But he was a spy anyway, wasn’t he? Severus was no stranger to danger.

But he was only a spy to protect Lily’s children, and if Albus suspected Harry Potter of harboring the Dark Lord… the boy would die. Perhaps not now, but one day, the boy would die, and Severus would serve the Dark Lord faithfully for the rest of his life to prevent that from happening, to prevent that last bit of Lily from being wiped from this world. Albus liked to act the genial old man, and perhaps most of the time he was, but he had a cold, ruthless edge that not many knew of. Albus would feel guilt and remorse and wish it wasn’t necessary, but in the end, he wouldn’t hesitate to kill Lily’s son if that was what it took. Severus was good at reading people – he’d had to be. Just as Rose Potter’s ruthless streak was clear as day once he took the time to actually _look,_ Albus’ was more well-hidden but just as evident.

No, Severus would protect the boy. He would protect the son and image of his nemesis, because that was the least he could do for what he’d done to Lily, his first and most faithful friend.

(if protecting Harry Potter meant serving the Dark Lord… Severus would do it)

(he warned Draco to be wary of Harry Potter, though he didn’t tell his godson why. He suspected it’d been unnecessary – from what he’d heard of the duel, Potter had put the fear of the gods into Draco already)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so... Snape knows about the horcrux in Harry (sort of)!!! He and Dumbledore are starting to get suspicious about the Potter twins, and unlike Dumbledore, isn't content with watching passively from afar.  
> (also, I changed the "Snape was in love with Lily" canon to my own "Lily was Snape's first and best friend" headcanon because platonic love is much easier for me to understand and write than romantic love)


	34. Summer 1993, Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much happening in this chapter. Mainly I'm laying down the plot threads for third year.

A few days before Blaise’s birthday party, Harry and Rose travelled to Oxford University to meet with Maitri Asan. Magical Oxford was as old as its muggle counterpart, accessible from the muggle world via a hidden door in the main hall. It was more a collective for researchers than school, though it did offer a few courses on business administration and law. It helped fund Masteries and, though many researchers worked closely with the Department of Mysteries, wasn’t officially affiliated with it.

They flooed into the main hall in a brilliant flash of green fire, stepping out into a cathedral-like room, with a tall, arched ceiling of dark wood and moving murals painted on the walls. The murals – a precursor to moving portraits – depicted famous scenes from magical history, among others. There was King Arthur, pulling Excalibur from stone. There was Atlantis, encased in a bubble on the sea floor. There was Hogwarts herself, the trees of the Forbidden Forest rustling in a painted wind. The murals glowed gently with imbued witchlight, illuminating the room.

A secretary met them at the floo, picking them out easily. They were, after all, the youngest people in the room by far. Everyone else looked anywhere from eighteen to eighty. 

“Good afternoon, Mr Potter, Miss Potter. If you would follow me please, the Department of History is just this way.”

They followed the secretary through a series of twisting corridors and narrow staircases, the pathway illuminated by torches. At last, they passed a sign that read “Department of History,” entering a narrow corridor lined with more corridors branching off on both sides. Each branch was labelled something like “High-Risk Experimentation Rooms 1-10” or “Low-Risk Meeting Rooms.” There was a distant scream of “WHO LET THE VELOCIRAPTORS OUT?!” as they passed, making Rose look worriedly at the secretary, who seemed unfazed.

“Don’t worry,” they said breezily. “Some experiments react badly to silencing wards, especially the high-risk ones. They all have emergency stasis options, so we’re quite safe.”

Rose wanted to clarify that she was worried less about herself and more about the fate of whomever was apparently trapped in a room with velociraptors, but she kept quiet. She wondered whether or not Parseltongue would work on dinosaurs – dragons, too. If only she’d thought of using Parseltongue for the first task… but no, she’d never have used such a ‘Dark’ talent back then, golden Gryffindor girl that she’d been. Perhaps next year, when Harry’s name presumably came out of the Goblet of Fire, she’d mention it to him.

They turned down a hallway labelled “Preservation Rooms: Fragile Artifacts.” The secretary tapped their wand on the doorknob and a series of lights appeared around it, swirling and spiraling and ending with the quiet _click_ of a lock. The door swung open on silent hinges.

Maitri Asan was a short, unassuming woman. Her hair was sleek, black, and pulled back into a braid. She had warm brown eyes and skin just a shade darker than Harry’s. She looked to be in her mid-20’s, but as a witch she could very well be in her 50’s. She gave a curt nod to the secretary who left, then turned to Harry and Rose once the door clicked shut.

The weight of preservation magic in the room was suffocating. The walls were made of stone, illuminated by witchlights hovering in a neat grid on the ceiling. There were cupboards and drawers all long the walls, each neatly labelled.

 _$Well met$_ Maitri Asan hissed, dipping her head. _$I am Master Maitri Asan. You may call me Maitri$_

 _$Harry Potter$_ Harry replied. _$Well met$_

 _$Rose Potter$_ she echoed. _$Well met$_

 _$We will be speaking in Parseltongue$_ Maitri said. _$For my English is poor, and I do not know how much Hindi you know$_

 _“Our guardians insisted we learn,”_ Harry said in accented Hindi. It’d taken quite some time with the language orb, and a great deal of Memory Potions, but they’d learned.

Maitri gave a pleased smile. _“Wonderful. Now, do you know why you’re here?”_

 _“To help you translate the –“_ Rose paused, not knowing the Hindi equivalent for Parselscript. _$Parselscript books?$_

The woman laughed a little and switched back to Parseltongue. _$Yes, precisely. Now, how much do you know about Parseltongue and its written equivalent?$_

Harry and Rose exchanged glances.

 _$Nothing$_ he said. _$We didn’t even know there_ was _a written form until we found the library in Slytherin’s Chamber$_

 _$Unsurprising$_ Maitri agreed _. $There was a purge beginning with the rise of Christianity where Parselmouths were hunted down and killed. Many fled to India and the Middle East, and any who stayed went into hiding. There were many purges after that, rising and falling with the popularity of Christianity, and as a result much of our heritage has been lost in these parts of the world. So, before we begin, I will give you a brief history of our people._

_$All Parselmouths are descended from those few first blessed by the naga, a now-extinct species that were half-human, half-snake. They were semi-aquatic and lived underground, and many Parselmouths therefore find themselves comfortable in such places._

_$Parselscript was devised as a form of communicating with other Parselmouths during the earliest purges of the Roman Empire. We would leave messages and warnings on riverbanks, the writing looking like the imprint of a snake to anyone else, directing fleeing Parselmouths to safety. They were put outside safehouses and villages that would give shelter to the refugee, and over time, as the Parselmouth settlement in India grew, it became a way to pass down knowledge from one generation to another._

_$The cache you discovered is the greatest trove of Parselscript literature in the world$_ She gestured around the room, barely larger than Rose and Susan’s dorm. There was something incredibly sad in the way Maitri spoke, of a people persecuted by their neighbors, forced from their homes and into foreign lands.

 _$Most of what we have here are histories, many of which are unique$_ Maitri continued _. $Though there are several older texts that we have copies of at Brahmaloka University, such as Fulvius Sulla’s_ La Fuga, _detailing his escape from Britannia at around 350 AD. Your job will be to translate these copies exactly as you read them, as the intricacies of Parselscript translation into different languages is poorly studied$_

It was simultaneously better and worse than Rose had imagined. It was interesting to read such ancient texts with such ease, used to as she was to parsing the archaic language some Ancient Runes’ texts were written in, but also heartbreaking. She and Harry were each working on a part of _La Fuga_ , which was Latin for “The Flight” or “The Escape”. Rose was allotted Sulla’s early life, which meant she had to record Sulla listening to the sound of his daughter being burned alive as he escaped, had to write down his feelings of guilt and shame that he, a Squib, could do nothing. Her heart went out to this ancient stranger – they were family, in a way, connected through time via happenstance and the thinnest tendril of blood, but they’d both been hated for something out of their control. 

(they’d both been victims of prejudice, and lost loved ones to it)

(prejudice was insidious. It could be blatant or subtle, and it had its little claws in every aspect of Rose’s life)

(she wanted. It. _Gone)_

* * *

When they took a break for lunch, they chatted quietly about what they’d learned. Rose thought she was developing a friendship crush on Maitri – the older woman was well-spoken and put together in the way Andromeda was, but with a playful edge she usually kept restrained that reminded her of Sirius. She defaulted to formality when nervous, which was useful in academic spaces but less so in social ones.

 _$Your newspaper called your discovery groundbreaking but really it would be more accurate to call it earth-shaking$_ Maitri laughed, gesturing grandly _._

_$I was so excited when the Dean of Oxford invited me over that only the quick thinking of my wife prevented me from burning down our home. This is the best thing to have happened to me since my wedding$_

It was… educational, Rose decided. It was odd to look forward to and dread something in equal measure – she’d nearly been brought to tears by Sulla.

* * *

_$If only I had been born with magic. My mother once cut down a small army to protect her child, but I could not even kill five men to protect my own. I will hear her screams, smell her burning, feel the ache of her loss for the rest of my days, and it is no less than I deserve$_

* * *

At 3 o’clock, the secretary returned to escort them to the floo.

 _“_ See you next week,” Rose called over her shoulder. She would’ve said it in Hindi, but Maitri was using a Hindi-locked dictaquill, and she didn’t want to accidentally ruin any translations.

“See you,” Harry added.

Maitri gave an acknowledging nod from where she was bent over several different scrolls, cross-referencing and dictating something too quick for her to catch.

The secretary shut the door behind them, where it locked automatically with a _click._

They took a different way out this time, passing by a sign that read ‘Library.’ Rose, seeing it, stopped in her tracks. The secretary turned and gave a laugh when they saw what she was looking at.

“Would you like to visit?” They asked. “Hogwarts students are free to access most of our books, you know.”

“What.” Rose said.

“Oh, Merlin,” Harry groaned.

* * *

“Harry!” Rose whisper-shrieked.

“What?” Harry sighed.

“This is an English translation of Mesh-ki-ang-gasher’s theory of inverses!”

“Riveting.”

“Shut up, can’t you just _feel_ the magic coming off of it, Mesh-ki-ang-gasher was a _genius – “_

“Rose, I don’t know who that is. Just like I didn’t know the last half-dozen people who’s works you’ve shown me.”

“He was the first ruler of Uruk but later left to study at Atlantis, but Harry, this is the _only English translation in existence,_ the original’s been lost, and it’s just _sitting here on a shelf - ?!”_

“At the most well-defended university in Europe,” the secretary put in, looking amused. Their name was Alex, and they’d been holding back laughter for the past hour. “Would you like to borrow a copy?”

“Oh, could I?” Rose asked breathlessly.

“Add it to the pile,” Harry sighed.

* * *

“An English translation of Mesh-ki-ang-gasher’s theory of inverses?” Samantha Page gasped. “It must be the only one in existence!”

 _“Thank_ you!” Rose cried, gesturing widely. “See, Harry, _that’s_ the appropriate response to – “

“Don’t worry,” Michael Brown stage-whispered to Harry. “I don’t know what they’re on about either.”

“Just what I’d expect from someone who got an ‘A’ on their Runes OWL,” Samantha sniffed. Michael clutched his chest dramatically, miming injury.

“Samantha!” he cried. “How _could_ you – “

“Very easily, I assure you,” Samantha giggled. Michael sent accusing eyes at Rose, who widened her own.

“You!” he cried. “You taught her that!”

“Taught her what?” Rose asked innocently. Harry sniggered.

“Everything alright?” Eleanor Page, Samantha’s mum, asked, poking her head in from the kitchen. Behind her, pots and pans were doing some sort of dance in the air, flying every which way, dodging peeled potatoes and wooden spoons and mixing bowls.

Harry had corresponded with Samantha and Michael all year, taking up Samantha’s urging to visit at last. Samantha and Michael had both grown since Rose had last seen them at her Ancient Runes OWL last summer, but there was an air about them that was just so irrepressibly _young._

(innocent)

(that was the word)

(they were innocent)

“Fine, mum,” Samantha grinned. “Michael’s just being a prat, as usual.”

“I am _not,_ you absolute _muppet – “_

Harry and Rose burst out laughing.

“You absolute _what?”_ Rose gasped through her laughter. Samantha turned her grin onto the younger girl as her mother returned to the kitchen.

(Samantha’s father, Sirius had found in his background check, had been a muggleborn killed by Bellatrix Lestrange herself. Eleanor Page had never remarried)

“Muppet,” she repeated. “It’s a muggle insult, apparently.”

“Is it really?” Rose giggled. “How wonderful. Harry, do remind me to call Malfoy a muppet when we next see him.”

“I’ll bring a camera,” Harry grinned back.

“What’s this I hear about calling Malfoy a muppet?” Lavender Brown asked curiously, returning from the bathroom.

“Exactly that,” Rose beamed. “I’ll send you a photo.”

“Oh, please do,” Lavender said earnestly, not a trace of guile in her expression. Rose was impressed. “It’ll be nice to have some blackmail on the blond ponce.”

(Rose fixed that image in her mind: Lavender, honey brown curls shining in the sun, eyes gleaming with humor. She carefully overlayed it onto one of an older Lavender, laying blood-soaked and unmoving on the ground as Parvati cried)

* * *

The morning before Blaise’s birthday party found Rose sitting at the dining room table. Sirius sat across from her, nails biting through the skin of his palms. There was a growing pool of tea on the ground, dotted with white teacup shards.

“I don’t understand,” Rose said quietly. She stared down at the newspaper uncomprehendingly. Pettigrew stared back, whimpering, and cringing back from the camera.

 _PETER PETTIGREW ESCAPES FROM AZKABAN,_ the headline blared. Rose looked at it, eyes tracing the letters. And after all the trouble the Ministry had gone through to get him captured – after everything – it had taken a country-wide manhunt to catch him that first time, they’d needed to post Aurors on practically every street corner and in the end had only caught him because he’d visited his mother, who was now deceased –

“How could he have escaped?!” Sirius snarled, slamming his fist into the table. “Those bloody incompetent Ministry fools – “

“The animagus-containment wards wore off,” Harry read in disbelief. “And so Pettigrew just… transformed… and ran.”

“This is absurd,” she said weakly, mind blank with shock. “Is this a bloody fixed point too? Someone must escape Azkaban?”

“At least it’s just him,” Sirius muttered. “And not my bloody cousin or something – “

“’Just’ Pettigrew brought back You-Know-Who in my past life,” Rose said quietly. “D’you think that’s what he’s setting out to do now?”

“Well, he’ll have to find You-Know-Who first, won’t he?” Harry asked uneasily.

“It took about a month last time,” Rose said hollowly. “I’m sorry, I should’ve – “

“Left me to rot in Azkaban?” Sirius sniped. “Gone to live with your magic-hating aunt, just to ‘preserve the timeline’? No, Rose, this isn’t your fault. I… I’m going to rejoin the Aurors,” he said.

“You sure?” Remus asked quietly. Sirius had been on the force during the war but had quit once he’d taken custody of Harry and Rose. She knew he’d been thinking about rejoining ever since she and Harry had gone off to Hogwarts but was afraid it’d bring back too many memories of James. Rose understood fearing one’s own memories; she suspected Remus did as well.

“Yeah, I… we knew him best, didn’t we? Who better to hunt him down?” Sirius said uncertainly.

“Let’s not do anything hasty,” Harry interrupted. “It’s not like Pettigrew’ll ever get in here, is it?”

“That’s true,” Remus agreed. “C’mon, Padfoot, let’s sleep on it.”

“It’s morning,” Sirius protested weakly as he allowed Remus to lead him away.

* * *

“And that’s why I can’t go anywhere without at least two other people with me,” Rose finished with a sigh. “Even though Pettigrew would have to be categorically insane to even think about coming after one of us.”

“Azkaban isn’t exactly known for turning people into sane, rational members of society,” Blaise pointed out. “I wouldn’t put it past him.” He stretched out his legs lazily. They were lounging under a copse of trees near a pool on the grounds of Zabini Manor. It had taken a great deal of begging and liberal application of puppy-dog eyes to get her here. It helped that the Zabinis were notoriously protective of their neutrality.

“Would he even be able to get into Hogwarts though?” Daphne asked skeptically.

“Seeing as Quirrell was being possessed by You-Know-Who during all of first year, I’d say that’s a ‘yes.’” Rose said dryly.

Blaise choked. “I’m sorry, _what_?”

Rose blinked, realizing she hadn’t talked to them about the confrontation. “Was that… not what you were told?”

 _“No,”_ Theo said emphatically. “Dumbledore just told us you stopped Quirrell from stealing something valuable! Not about the… _Dark_ _Lord_?!” He said that last word with all the horrified incredulity of someone who’d just discovered their pet had been a secret animagus the entire time.

“Oh,” Rose said lamely. “Well, I _did_ stop him from stealing the Philosopher’s Stone, so I suppose that’s not _un_ true.”

What followed, amidst gaping mouths, was a brief summary of the confrontation with Quirrellmort.

“You… faced down the Dark Lord… and _survived?”_ Theo said incredulously.

“To be fair, he wasn’t trying to kill me until the very end,” she pointed out.

“What were you doing until then?” he asked, in the same tone. “Having a chat?!”

Rose paused. “Well…”

“Dear Circe,” Blaise groaned. “You had a bloody _chat_ with the Dark Lord?”

“Are we not going to talk about the fact that he’s somehow still alive?!” Daphne demanded, looking uncharacteristically frazzled.

“I thought everyone knew,” Rose said defensively. “Anyway, back to my point: if bloody You-Know-Who can sneak into Hogwarts undetected, then who’s to say that Pettigrew can’t? He’s a bloody rat animagus, those things are everywhere.”

“… Are you so sure he was undetected, though?” Theo asked slowly. The astonishment had faded from his expression, leaving only a calculated thoughtfulness.

Rose looked at him sharply, narrowing her eyes. She flicked up a few privacy spells before answering, taking note of how they stilled when she drew her wand.

“No,” she said bluntly. “I’m thinking Dumbledore lured him to Hogwarts as a trap, believing that with both the Stone and Harry there he wouldn’t be able to stay away. You-Know-Who tried to kill Harry too – remember that fall he had? Right onto a sword? I’m not very impressed by Dumbledore’s track record of keeping his students safe. I think if he has a reason to want Pettigrew on the school grounds, the rat will be able to get onto those grounds perfectly fine.”

Theo nodded slowly. “Yeah, that’s what I…” he trailed off. All three of them were looking grim.

“He’s really back, then,” Theo said quietly. Rose looked at him and suddenly remembered his family. Namely, his Death Eater father. There was a conflict in Theo’s eyes, a storm that’d been brewing ever since the beginning of second year when he’d all but openly declared his friendship with her. He’d been able to pass off their friendship as a good political move to his father, but once Voldemort came back – once he _truly_ came back – she doubted very much that that would continue to be allowed. 

_(if,_ she reminded herself firmly. _If_ he came back)

“We’ll give you sanctuary,” she said. “If you need it. That goes for all of you,” she added, making eye contact with Blaise and Daphne. Their families had stayed out of the last war, but in this one they were her friends. She was doing everything she could to avert a war, but if she failed…

(each and every one of them she’d first spoken with for a purpose, an underlying reason, but now they were her _friends,_ and she would do whatever it took to protect them)

Daphne tossed her hair, but there was a slight pallor to her skin that she couldn’t quite mask. “I’d like to see him try. Greengrass Manor has some of the strongest wards in the country.”

“And the Zabinis are nearly as vicious as the Blacks,” Blaise added.

“I should be fine,” Theo said quietly. “But… thanks, Rose.”

She gave a weak smile. “Well, I’m the one who’s dragged you into all this, so it’s the least I can do.”

Blaise threw a handful of grass at her. She batted at them, scowling.

“Don’t be such a self-sacrificing Gryffindor,” he said scornfully. “We’re all capable of making our own decisions. We chose to be friends with you knowing what that would entail.”

“It’s insulting of you to think that we were somehow tricked,” Daphne sniffed.

“Let me put this in words for your little Hufflepuff brain,” Theo began. “We’re your friends, and no upstart Dark Lord is going to change that. Is that clear?”

Rose couldn’t help but give a faint laugh. “Crystal.”

If her eyes were a bit shinier than usual, no one mentioned it.

* * *

(it was odd – Rose would’ve expected her sleep to be more disturbed after Pettigrew’s escape, but after weaning herself off of Dreamless Sleep, she’d only woken a few times to the feeling of her skin burning, and that was all)

(it was extraordinarily mild, and there was something almost… pleased… about it)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Pettigrew's escaped! Three guesses on why that is ;) chapter 49's from Theo's POV, and I honestly can't wait!!


	35. Summer 1993, Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're nearly at 1k kudos and that's left me deliriously happy, so here's the next chapter! Hope you enjoy!

The morning of July 31st, Rose could barely eat for nerves. Remus smiled at her fondly and pushed a vial of Draught of Peace towards her. It relieved anxiety, though part of her wanted to ask for Calming Draft, meant for great shocks and traumas. She thought better of it and downed the vial in one swallow, and immediately her appetite returned.

“Thanks,” Rose said.

“Of course,” he replied. “Though, you do know that none of us would treat you any differently?”

Rose nodded.

“It’s not _you_ I’m worried about,” she said quietly.

On their thirteenth birthday, a wixen’s family magicks would decide whether or not they accepted them. It was meant to be a secret, but it was always a scandal whenever it came out that someone was denied. Usually, acceptance was subtle – a slight sharpening of cheekbones, an imperceptible darkening of hair, that was usually passed off as puberty, since it was considered crass to flaunt and no photographs were allowed of wix younger than thirteen. As a result of the secrecy, even within families, no one knew how rare or common it was. Part of what had pushed Bellatrix Lestrange into Voldemort’s arms had been the Black family magicks’ well-known rejection of her.

Harry and Rose would be judged by two families’ magicks: Potters and Blacks. Perhaps the Gaunts, even, through their mother, but none of them were quite sure. The Judging required both blood and an emotional, intellectual connection to one’s past, after all, which was why she’d never undergone it in her first life. She’d known nothing of her history, and the social taboo around discussing it outside the family meant she’d never learned until it was too late.

Sirius, not wanting any children himself, had blood-adopted them soon after they were born. That magical inheritance was another reason purebloods from old families shied away from intermarriage with muggleborns – muggleborns, as first of their line, (supposedly) had no family magicks to offer. It was something that built up over hundreds of years, starting from the line’s founder. It needed generations of wix to share the same blood and values before it began to form. It was accumulated magic, magic of spells, rituals, and choices alike.

The morning after they turned thirteen, the wix always knew whether or not they’d been accepted. From what Sirius had said, it was like a distant presence in his magic, something unnoticeable save for moments when he wanted guidance. For some, it whispered arcane spells long fallen out of use. For others, it did nothing their entire lives. The acceptance of the family magicks would alter their own, however – Blacks had an affinity for destructive and offensive spells, whereas Potters an affinity for Transfiguration. Acceptance would strengthen those affinities they already had by blood. Particularly powerful muggleborns who threw themselves into rituals could also hand down their abilities – hence Harry’s talent in Charms.

The family magicks weren’t meant to be a yoke, and an affinity towards certain spells didn’t necessitate their use. Andromeda, after all, had been a Healer before she’d been the Black proxy. It was a reminder of their past, their legacy, not truly sentient but something close to it. No one was quite sure of the criteria by which the family magicks made their decision, what with the stigma. Those rejected would still be able to stand as Head of their family, but often parents would pass over older children for younger if the latter had been accepted. Different families had their own policies – the Potters didn’t care, and titles were almost always passed down to the oldest child, but the Blacks required the heir and Head to hold the family magicks.

She greeted Harry quietly as he padded into the kitchen. He gave her a strained smile, then his eyes fell upon the vials of Draught of Peace and he grabbed one immediately. She envied him – as eldest, he was assured to be the Potter heir whether accepted or not. She, meanwhile…

Rose didn’t want to put so much stock in titles, but if only she knew whether or not she’d have one, she’d be able to put her mind to rest. She hated this waiting, this uncertainty… It’d been fine during Hogwarts and she could distract herself with school, but over the summer she had nothing but studying and dueling – which, intellectually, she knew wasn’t nothing, but every moment she spent in Potter Manor was another moment where she was reminded of the uncertainty of her position. Oh, she would always be a Potter by blood, but would she be a Potter by _magic_ as well? And what of her Black blood? What would become of the House after Sirius passed?

The Blacks were Darker. They were brutal and passionate, ambitious and ruthless. Arcturus Black had once been the most powerful man on the Wizengamot. Cassiopeia Black had been a brilliant spell crafter. Eridanus Black had invented Felix Felices.

Blacks were either great or nothing. Walburga Black had been mad, as had Pollux Black, even though they’d both been accepted by the family magicks. There was no balance, no in-between. Even Narcissa was rumoured to be the power behind Lucius Malfoy – there was an edge to his letters that reminded her of the journals she’d read in the Black library at Grimmauld Place.

They spent the day quietly, in solemn celebration. Their birthday party wasn’t for another three days – they hadn’t wanted to spend time with their friends with this hanging over their head, and they’d have time to recover if they were rejected. She and Harry took Sleeping Drafts that night – sometimes, rejection was painful.

* * *

When she woke, Rose knew.

She’d felt the consideration of the Potter magicks in her dreams – they liked her ruthlessness, her compassion, her fight against prejudice.

The Black magicks had focused on her cunning, ambition, a will to reshape the world as she saw fit. She had a passion that could burn cities to the ground, loved with a fierceness that had levelled countries. Even though she was a half-blood, their motto had always had two meanings. _Toujours pur;_ purity of blood, or purity of magic. And she, who practiced her rituals, with such a deep connection to her magic, who saw the magic in the world and named it gift, had a magic they’d deemed worthy.

 _Yes,_ they’d whispered, voices melding and harmonizing and rising. _You will fit nicely._

The Gaunt magicks had taken one look at her half-blood status and rejected her. _Half-muggle,_ they’d snarled. _Half-mud._

(there had been something else as well – a faint caress, barely more than a breath, of _pride)_

Rose was…

She was both Black and Potter – she could feel it. The magic was there, both families in equal measure. She reached for her magic – the twin bond was there, like a rope; the familiar bond was there, the barest tug on her core; and then, something new. It was like dual streams – two streams whose water began at her, but soon joined with countless others, merging into an enormous river, the kind that carved through mountains and felled forests. They were there, the Blacks, a distant presence from whom she felt a thrum of welcome. It was impossible to determine individuals – it was called _family_ magicks for a reason, after all – but she wondered if the others had felt her addition.

As she walked past the mirror on her way into the bathroom, she did a double take. The changes, small though they were, were startling. This… this wasn’t the could-be-passed-off-as-puberty changes she’d heard about. This was a look-again, what-in-the-name-of-Merlin-happened-to-you change.

Her eyes, always a dimmer green than Harry’s, had taken on a silver sheen. They seemed to catch the light no matter how she tilted her head – she recognized the distinctive Black eyes, having seen them on Sirius every day. Against her pale skin, they seemed to glow. Her face had narrowed, her chin more pointed, her cheekbones higher and more distinctive. Pureblood features, less softened by her muggleborn mother (she didn’t know how she felt about that). Her hair, which had been straight like Lily’s, now fell in loose waves around her shoulders. The colour was…

Formerly, it had been a regular auburn, pretty but not particularly eye-catching. Now, though she’d lost her mother’s eyes, hair texture, and facial features, she’d gained her hair. Her hair was the colour of blood, a deep crimson that shone against her skin. It was comforting, to have both lost and gained some elements of her mother.

(it settled something inside her – Lily was and always would be her mother)

(she refused to be ashamed of her heritage – just because she was a practitioner of the Old Ways _did not_ mean she was also a bigot)

When she walked into the dining room, Sirius gave a low whistle.

“You look like Lily if she’d been a Black,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “That’s… honestly kind of terrifying.”

His frankness made Rose laugh for the first time that day.

“Is it that obvious?” she asked, sitting down and reaching for a slice of toast. Remus pushed the bowl of strawberries closer and she smiled in thanks.

“The eyes give it away,” Sirius said. “Welcome to the family,” he grinned. “We’re all mad here.”

Remus smacked Sirius’ shoulder as he laughed.

“Hello, everyone, goo – holy _fuck,”_ Harry blurted out. His eyes had gotten brighter, his hair darker. He stared at her and Rose resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably under his gaze.

“What Harry means to say is,” Remus said dryly. “You look different, but very pretty, Rose.”

Rose sniffed. “You mean I wasn’t pretty before?”

Harry sat down with a _thump._ “Good thing you can be so scary, Rosie,” he said around a mouthful of eggs. “You’ll be beating ‘em off with a stick.”

Rose grinned, ducking her head. “Thanks, Harry.”

In truth, she was a bit scared. The idea of romance had her feeling odd, a mixture of revulsion and excitement. It was good that she was feeling less twenty-one with every year that passed – in the beginning, it had been omnipresent, that thought of _I’m too young, too small, don’t belong here._ But this was _her._ She belonged. She was thirteen and she belonged.

(she was twenty-one and she was about to - )

“This means we can both join Aunt Andy on the Wizengamot, right?” Rose checked. Her memories were pushed back into the deepest, darkest recesses of her mind, behind the strongest occlumency barriers she could muster.

Harry groaned. “Only _you’d_ be eager for politics. I, for one, am not looking forward to sitting in a stuffy room full of pureblood snobs.”

“’Atta boy,” Sirius grinned, ruffling Harry’s hair.

“It’s important,” Remus and Rose said simultaneously.

Harry gave her a pleading look. “You’ll be my proxy, won’t you?”

Rose rolled her eyes. “You’ve still got to _learn,_ idiot.”

“Is that a yes?” he pressed.

She wrinkled her nose. “If you can’t find anyone else, I suppose I must.” A thought occurred to her and she lit up.

“I’ll have access to the Lords of the Wizengamot,” she breathed in wonder. _“Finally.”_

“May Circe have mercy on them,” Sirius muttered.

* * *

Later that day, they swapped their respective family rings for heir rings. As she slid on the Black Heir ring next to her Potter Family ring, she felt a gentle pulse of magic, a kind of securing of the tether to the Black family magicks she could feel at the edges of her awareness. It seemed to click in place, and Rose couldn’t help but smile at the feeling of belonging.

* * *

Harry and Rose held their birthday party, like last year, at Potter Manor. Unlike last year, since they were now thirteen, they could no longer be shielded from politics. As a result, something like the entire upper echelon of the Ministry was milling about on the lawn. Rose felt violated. They’d invited the entirety of their year as well as a good chunk of the others, causing muggleborns to brush shoulders with the likes of Lucius Malfoy. It was surreal, and Rose couldn’t help but think that not everyone would make it out alive. Minister Fudge, Amelia Bones, even Barty Crouch Senior was there.

“Happy birthday, Miss Potter!” Minister Fudge said cheerfully, pumping her hand up and down.

Rose gave him her sweetest smile. “Thank you, it’s an honor to have the Minister himself at my birthday party.”

Approaching behind him, Amelia Bones looked amused.

“Hello, Rose,” she greeted. “Happy birthday.”

“Thank you, Amelia! Is Susan around?” Rose’s smile turned into something more genuine.

“Around here somewhere,” Amelia said, with a faint smile. “Perhaps wherever your brother is.”

“Thanks!” Rose chirped. “Thank you again, Minister!”

She skipped away, saying a silent prayer of thanks for Amelia Bones. Macha was inside – flaunting her familiar around acquaintances and other children were one thing; Ministry officials were quite another. Rose spotted her friends near the edge of the quidditch hoops along with a crowd of their peers and made her way towards them.

“You’ve been ignoring me!” she accused, poking Blaise in the back and stepping around him. “All of you! I can’t believe you left me to the Minister!”

“Needs must,” Harry grinned. “He wanted to talk to one of us and it wasn’t going to be me.”

Rose rolled her eyes. “Don’t be so sure, _Boy-Who-Lived,_ you’ve made the front page five times this past year. I’m just glad Sirius put his foot down on photographers.” She giggled. “Susan, remind me to send your aunt a birthday – “

Hermione gave a loud gasp. “Oh, Rose, what happened to you?”

In the ensuing awkward silence, she added, “It’s a valid question, isn’t it? Your eyes and hair have gone a completely different colour!”

Justin coughed into his fist. “Er… it’s a magical inheritance thing, I think, a bit rude to talk about outside of family…” He glanced uncertainly at Ernie.

“Yes,” Ernie nodded, expression a little strained. “Family magicks and all that, the Judging, thirteenth birthday, a change in appearance isn’t surprising at all.”

Hermione frowned. “That wasn’t in any of my books.”

“Well,” Hannah hedged. “Like Justin said, it’s considered a bit…”

“Come on, Hermione,” Justin said, gesturing with his head. “I’ll tell you what Ernie told me over there, alright?”

“Alright,” Hermione said hesitantly. She glanced at the rest of them. “Er, sorry about my rudeness…”

“You didn’t know,” Hannah said kindly. As Justin led her a few feet away, Hannah turned to Rose and said, “I see what you mean now, about the Wixen Culture class. I would’ve expected the books to cover it, but I suppose since it’s so private…”

Ernie grimaced. “Yes, it was very awkward having to explain it to Justin. A class that would do that sort of thing for us would be immensely helpful.”

Rose gave them a hopeful smile, trying to shake off the residual awkwardness from the group. “You’ll support it, then?”

Ernie and Hannah exchanged a glance and nodded.

“Yes, I’ll talk to my grandfather,” Hannah said.

“And I’ll talk to my great-uncle,” Ernie agreed.

“Thanks,” Harry said fervently. “I had to pull aside a number of people when Padma and Parvati turned thirteen, it was awful.”

There was another awkward pause. One of the downsides of being identical twins was that everyone knew if one twin received their magical inheritance and the other wasn’t – in this case, Rose deduced that someone had asked Parvati why Padma suddenly looked a little different. Normally the changes were so subtle as to be unnoticeable, like Harry’s, but with identical twins it was easier to tell. Changes as drastic as Rose’s were not unusual but not the norm, either.

Hermione returned, looking miserable at her faux-pas, and Rose pulled her into a hug.

“It’s not your fault,” she told her firmly, pitching her voice low so it carried. “You didn’t know. It’s the fault of whoever denied you that knowledge.”

“Yes,” Ernie said, nodding pompously. “No need to get upset over it, old girl, you didn’t know.”

“It’s really alright,” Hannah added earnestly. “We’re not upset.”

Hermione gave them all a watery smile, but it was genuine.

“Thanks,” she said.

* * *

“Happy birthday, Miss Potter.”

Rose turned and blinked at Barty Crouch Senior. She’d always be uneasy around him, but the man had returned early from his first holiday in history to attend her and Harry’s birthday party. It wouldn’t do to be rude. She gave a short bow at the waist, that of heir to Lord.

“Lord Crouch. Well met.”

“Well met, Miss Potter. Or is it Miss Black?”

“Miss Potter will do, my lord,” Rose said, smiling sunnily. “Heir of Black. I suppose I’ll be seeing you at the Wizengamot session on Saturday?”

Crouch sniffed. “Indeed. I bid you adieu, Miss Potter,” he said, inclining his head. “Have a good day.”

“You too,” Rose replied bemusedly. What an abrupt exit; how odd.

* * *

Rose smoothed down the front of her light purple robes. The deep plum colour of the Wizengamot was reserved for Lords and their proxies or regents. A lighter purple signified an heir. Even if people hadn’t been able to tell from her eyes and face, after today they’d know she was the heir of Black. The family crest was embroidered on robes, after all. It was quite clear.

There was a nervous anticipation bubbling in her stomach. She wished familiars were allowed, but unfortunately all Macha could do was send calm pulses her way. The familiar bond was stronger than it was, but it would be years until it was fully matured.

Macha was right. There was no need to worry. Rose was only there as an observer, after all, to get a feel for Wizengamot politics and procedure. No one would be expecting much of anything from her, sister of the Boy-Who-Lived or not. Likely she’d be able to fade into Harry’s shadow, which she was grateful for. She’d been excited at finally being able to take this step into politics, but now… she wished she could just hide in the shadows, that no one would look at her, that she could slip in and out unseen. These robes… they were like a calling card. They made her stand out, and for all that she’d left the cupboard behind, for all that the cupboard had never even _existed_ in this life, she’d never quite been comfortable with being seen by adults. Children her age were fine – they were her peers, her equals. But adults, _Lords_ …

 _They won’t see_ you, she reminded herself. _They’ll see the sister of the Boy-Who-Lived, the heir of House Black, a Hufflepuff. They’ll see those labels and miss_ you _entirely._

There was a knock at the door and Harry peeked inside tentatively.

“Ready?” he asked. She could see the nervousness in his expression.

“Ready,” she confirmed. She squeezed his hand for an instant before leaving, though. They wouldn’t be able to do anything so childish as that later, but for now no one was watching.

Andromeda met them at the floo, resplendent in plum-colored robes, the silver trimming denoting her as a proxy.

“You two look wonderful,” she murmured, eyes piercing. “Chin up, Harry, Rose.”

They tried to smile in return, though from the amusement in her expression, they didn’t succeed.

“You’ve both been training for this,” Andromeda reminded them. Her gray eyes turned to Rose. “And _you_ were the one who struck up an alliance with Lucius Malfoy. After that, what do you have to be nervous about?”

Rose tried not to blush. “It was a spur-of-the-moment decision. This is different.”

Andromeda gave her a gentle smile. “Perhaps, but you are far more prepared.”

“That’s true,” Harry grinned, nudging her with his shoulder. “If you can face down Lucius bloody Malfoy, you can face down the Wizengamot.”

“That’s Lord Malfoy to you, Harry,” Andromeda said, but there was a smile tucked away in the corner of her mouth. “I don’t want to imagine what would happen if you called him that during the session.”

Harry made a face. “Thanks for the nightmares, Andy – sorry, Lady Black.”

“And you, Rose,” Andromeda added, looking at her niece. “Tomorrow, Narcissa and I will teach you what it means to be a witch of the House of Black.”

Rose gave her a shark-like grin, regaining her confidence. She was a Black and a Potter, after all. She was the daughter of Lily Potter, the woman who’d countered the Killing Curse. “I look forwards to it.”

“Excellent,” Andromeda said. “Now, for the upcoming session, I was thinking…”

* * *

The Wizengamot was divided into three sections: those for nobles, those for non-nobles, and those for recipients of the Order of Merlin, First Class. There were twenty-five active noble seats and fifteen non-noble or elected seats. Dumbledore, as Chief Warlock, was also currently the only recipient of an Order of Merlin, First Class.

There were three main factions in the Wizengamot: the Progressives, who were pro-muggles, and pro-muggleborn rights; the Traditionalists, who were proponents of the Old Ways and creature rights; and the Neutrals, who fell in between. The Neutrals were further split into the Neutral-Progressives, who tended to side with the Progressives, the Neutral-Traditionalists, and the true Neutrals. Sirius, with Andromeda as his proxy, was the unofficial leader of the Neutral-Progressives, comprising the Blacks, Bones, Fawleys, and Harpers, as the official Neutral faction had no official leader. Lucius Malfoy was the leader of the Traditionalists, which was composed of Lords Avery, Lestrange, Malfoy, Nott, and Rosier.

This meant that it was extremely surprising to the room at large when Rose and Lord Malfoy greeted each other in a downright _friendly_ manner. They were in the antechamber – it was practically mandatory for the attendees to network for half an hour before and after the session. Rose was just pleased that there were snacks.

“Lord Malfoy,” Rose smiled, bowing formally.

“Miss Potter,” he replied. “I’m quite certain I’ve invited you to call me Lucius.”

“Perhaps Uncle Lucius?” Rose said, grinning cheekily. Her eyes sparkled, every bit the precocious little girl.

“A discussion for another time, I think,” he deflected, but Rose saw the amusement flash in his eyes. He knew exactly what she was doing and was going along with it. Perhaps to earn her goodwill? Boost his own standing? She figured it was both those and a number of other reasons she couldn’t possibly fathom. “You’re looking well, Miss Potter,” he said, alluding to her obvious acceptance by the Black family magicks.

“Thank you,” she replied, allowing herself to bounce on the balls of her feet. “I’m ever so excited for my first Wizengamot session, I can’t wait.”

“Yes, I can see that,” Lucius observed, amusement colouring his voice, along with a touch of fondness. Rose felt a rush of awe – Merlin, he was _good._ She could hear the stutters in conversation around them as people nearly gaped. “I pray you are not disappointed.”

She laughed merrily, drawing even more looks. “I suppose I’ll see you after the session, then?”

(she very carefully didn’t ask after Draco)

“Indeed,” Lucius agreed. They dipped their heads to each other as they parted, Rose still grinning slightly. Her eyes shone with wonder, lighting up at the next person to approach her.

“Neville!” she beamed joyfully, bounding over to him. “Ahem – I mean, Mr. Longbottom,” she amended hastily, seeing several badly-covered smiles at her slip. Neville grinned at her and returned her bow.

“Miss Potter,” he said. They stared at each other for a moment before Rose widened her eyes dramatically and turned to his grandmother, standing behind him. She bowed deeply, more than she should have for an apology.

“My sincerest apologies, Lady Longbottom,” she said. “I’m afraid I was overcome with excitement at seeing your grandson and forgot my manners.”

She hadn’t done anything of the sort. They’d met before, of course, and Rose had learned that Augusta Longbottom, who’d thrown her brother Algernon on the streets for dangling Neville out a window, had an enormous soft spot for her grandson. In her eyes, Neville’s obvious friendship with her and her brother were their best qualities. Rose had hypothesized that, to get on Augusta Longbottom’s good side, one had to be on good terms with her grandson. Of course, it wasn’t at all obvious, which was why Augusta’s scathing response had Rose ducking her head in shame and Neville sending his gran a disapproving frown.

“We’re only thirteen, grandmother,” he said. “Surely Miss Potter can be forgiven for her excitement?”

“I will forgive it this once,” Augusta said stiffly. “Do try to do better next time, Miss Potter.”

Rose bowed again. “I will, Lady Longbottom. My sincerest apologies.”

Rose then rejoined Harry and Andromeda, whom she’d left at the refreshment table. She’d broken decorum by wandering off by herself, but they’d agreed upon it earlier – Rose would play the role of excited, happy little girl while she still could, breaking the less-stringent rules, whereas Harry and Andromeda would be the rule-abiding, doting family. It humanized all three of them, endearing them to the Wizengamot with their clear affection for each other. Rose would be far more well-behaved after their first session, of course, but first impressions were vital. They needed to see Harry and Andromeda as the real power, so that Rose could slip through unnoticed and underestimated.

Perhaps her favorite moment had been when she’d met Hannah – her grandfather, Lord Abbot, was the leader of the Progressive faction and known for doting on his granddaughter. She and Hannah had a grand old time giggling and chatting and generally playing the pair of cheerful Hufflepuff girls. She missed Susan, who wouldn’t turn thirteen until September, but Susan was very serious, unlike Hannah, so until then she was going to milk this for all it was worth. As it was, they had to tone it down after Ernie joined them.

She made a point of greeting everyone, especially those in the elected seats. Madam Marchbanks, who had administered her Runes OWL, exclaimed over Rose’s proficiency in Ancient Runes. Meredith Diggory, Cedric’s mum, gave her a gentle smile. Claire Haywood, Penny and Beatrice’s mother, beamed at her and told her she was happy to see another Hufflepuff on the Wizengamot.

“Far too many Slytherins,” she said, winking.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Rose giggled. “Some badgers hunt snakes, you know.”

Mrs. Haywood had laughed.

* * *

The session itself was one of the most boring things Rose had ever sat through. Networking, in her opinion, was far more interesting than taxes on potions ingredients, but she listened to the debate all the same and took diligent notes. She stuck by Harry and Andromeda in the antechamber after the session and during breaks, greeting everyone eagerly but a bit more subdued than she’d been before, and didn’t let her mask slip for an instant.

When they flooed home, Harry and Rose collapsed in the sitting room. By Merlin, politics was fun, but she was _exhausted._ Their robes were comfortable and had anti-wrinkling enchantments (among others) woven into the fabric, so they didn’t worry about sprawling into armchairs and calling Dobby for tea. Andromeda arrived an hour later, having stayed behind to do some more politicking with the other adults.

(Dobby made wonderful tea. Rose had finally stopped tearing up at the sight of him, too, which was nice)

“So?” Andromeda prompted, after Harry and Rose and recovered. “How do you think that went?”

“I think it went fairly well,” Rose said cautiously.

“Boring as hell,” Harry said flatly.

They looked at each other before Harry grinned.

“I think it went well too,” he said. “The plan certainly worked; I think everyone forgot we were Parselmouths after seeing you for about five seconds.”

“I quite agree,” Andromeda said, not trying to hide her smile. “Both of you did wonderfully. You should know that Lord Malfoy has invited us over for dinner on Tuesday.”

“Dinner?” Harry repeated.

“Does that include Sirius?” Rose asked.

Andromeda looked amused. “Yes, dinner; and yes, that includes both Sirius and Remus.”

Harry blanched. “You said no, right?”

“Of course she didn’t!” Rose said, affronted. “That’d be incredibly rude!”

“Indeed, I did not,” Andromeda confirmed, her speech patterns still residually formal. “I said that I’d owl them with a response, although I expect my cousin and his husband to make his excuses so in practice, it will be just us.”

“I wish he wasn’t so useful,” Harry sighed. “It’s going to be awful.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter and then we're back at Hogwarts!!


	36. Summer 1993, Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over 1000 kudos?! You guys are amazing <3 Off to Hogwarts next chapter!

Sirius – or, more accurately, Kreacher – had dusted off the Black Manor and opened it to Rose, Andromeda, and Narcissa on Sunday, the day after the Wizengamot session. It’d been closed ever since Sirius’ grandfather, Arcturus Black, had died several years ago.

Kreacher had been delighted to serve Blacks once more – nearly as delighted as he’d been to find that Rose had been accepted by the Black family magicks. Having not been trapped in a house alone with only a horcrux and insane portrait of Walburga Black for company, he wasn’t nearly as mad as he’d been in her previous life. He did still mutter ominously whenever Sirius was unfortunate enough to enter his thoughts, but wasn’t nearly as vitriolic as she remembered. Rose supposed Sirius officially taking up the Black Lordship had something to do with it.

Andromeda and Narcissa had officially reconciled when Sirius had reinstated the former to the family. Unofficially, they’d never quite fallen out of touch, but their letters had gone from cordial to friendly. They were united, now, in the passing on of Black traditions to a new generation, just as they were united in the belief that Sirius ought to have nothing to do with it. He would leave her training to his cousins and the portraits of his ancestors, something he quite agreed with.

“I’ve never been a proper Black,” he’d said sheepishly. “I do well enough now, but… well…”

“It’s alright,” Rose had comforted. “We can’t all be as perfect as I am.”

* * *

They met the day after her first Wizengamot session, flooing into the receiving chamber of Black Manor. It was a kind of understated ostentatious, all white marble and gold gilt. Old and fallen into disuse as it was, the chandeliers and hallways held candles and torches, not witchlights. There were also about a hundred bedrooms, and Rose wondered absently if it had ever harbored an army.

(because it might have to, one day)

“We’ll have to update it,” Aunt Narcissa (as she’d insisted Rose call her) declared. Andromeda gave a decisive nod of agreement. “But for now…”

Narcissa turned to Rose, looking her over with a critical eye.

“Walk around the room,” she ordered.

“Pour me tea.”

“Greet me as if I were my husband.”

Rose complied, trying not to think about the way she moved, or the way expressions sat on her face. She’d practiced this for years under Andromeda’s discerning eye – all she needed to do was relax and let muscle memory take over. No need to be nervous about disappointing Narcissa – she might’ve gotten additional teachings as a Malfoy, but she and Andromeda had had the same upbringing, received the same training, and she put her faith in the aunt she’d grown up with.

“You’ve done well,” Narcissa told her sister afterwards. Andromeda sniffed.

“Of course I have. I might’ve been disinherited for a few years, but I never stopped being a Black.”

Narcissa tilted Rose’s chin up, examining the planes of her face.

“Reminds you a bit of Dorea, doesn’t she?” Narcissa asked wistfully.

“I wasn’t sure if I was imagining it,” Andromeda admitted. “Fitting, I think.”

Dorea Potter nee Black had been Rose’s great-aunt, her grandfather’s sister-in-law. By all accounts, she’d been every inch the Black, and the compliment warmed Rose a great deal. The woman had been ruthless – Charlus Potter, her husband, had been a recluse, but Dorea had done as much to maintain the name of Potter as Fleamont had. They, along with Euphemia, had been a terrifying trio.

From there, they went to the Black family library. The one at Grimmauld was a smaller version of the main one – twice as large as the Potter family library, it was filled with old tomes and journals in addition to published books.

“Excellent! Aunt Cassiopeia’s Black Book of Blackmail!” Narcissa exclaimed, looking the most delighted Rose had ever seen her. “Every Black ought to have a book of blackmail. Let’s see, now…”

Narcissa pressed her palm to the brick wall and sent a pulse of magic through it; much like Diagon Alley, they shivered and moved aside to reveal a compartment hidden behind the stone. Inside lay a small stack of black books identical to the one Narcissa held in her hand.

“Reserved for those accepted by the Black family magicks,” Narcissa said. “I’d given up hope of ever passing one down.”

The older woman gave Rose a fond smile, which Rose returned. Narcissa was haughty and elegant where Andromeda was more down-to-earth, and Rose found herself admiring the blonde. How on earth she and Lucius Malfoy had produced a prat like Draco Malfoy, she didn’t know. Perhaps they were different with their son?

“Put your palm over it,” Andromeda murmured, her eyes alight with excitement as well. “And push your magic into it.”

“It doesn’t matter that my magic hasn’t settled yet?” Rose asked curiously. That was, after all, why she and Harry wouldn’t be able to bond with a second wand until next summer: the family magicks needed time to integrate into her own before they could sustain a bond with another wand. The first wand was always the most adaptable, after all.

“No,” Andromeda smiled. “It’s bonded to both the Black family magicks and your own signature. It’ll change as you do – a piece of magic no one’s ever quite been able to replicate,” she added with a proud smile. “After that, it will only open and be read by you.”

“Anyone else will just see notes on healing,” Narcissa added. The two sisters shared a look that told Rose this was an inside joke.

“What if I wanted to see the notes on healing?” she asked curiously. “I’m rather interested in the subject.”

Narcissa allowed her eyebrows to raise ever-so-slightly as she looked at Andromeda. “Following in your footsteps, dear sister?”

“Not me,” Andromeda assured her with a slight smile. “It was her own prerogative. All you need to do is will it,” she added, glancing at Rose. “While pushing your magic through. Though it’s not exactly up to date, so do be sure to check other sources.”

“I will,” Rose beamed. She hugged her very own Black Book of Blackmail to her chest. It hummed hungrily under her fingers, awaiting secrets. “I can’t wait to start filling this up!”

Narcissa had to cover her laugh with a delicate hand. Away from prying eyes and surrounded by family, she’d relaxed considerably. There was no stoic mask, only girlish excitement. For all Narcissa’s grace and elegance, there was a look in her eye that made Rose think, with a pang of longing, of Mrs. Weasley. They shared that same fond look in their eyes.

 _Stop it,_ Rose told herself sternly. _That life is gone. Making comparisons to it brings nothing but pain._

Andromeda’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and Rose’s attention snapped back to the present, heart aching. “You’re a Parselmouth. Could you set up a snake spy network in Hogwarts?”

Rose’s eyes lit up, and the two sisters laughed.

From the library, they moved on. They sat in a family sitting room (because yes, there were multiple – and she’d thought Potter Manor grandiose) and Rose learned about the Black family history in far more detail than she’d ever gone into.

The thoughts she’d had, about Blacks having passions that’d leveled cities? Apparently, it was _true._ It had been a Black who’d sunk Atlantis, a Black who’d begun the Trojan War, Blacks who’d exterminated entire families for a single insult.

“Helen of Troy was a distant cousin, but a Black nonetheless,” Narcissa had assured her.

They were proud, emotional, and cunning. The words described Rose uncomfortably well.

“There’s nothing wrong with pride,” Andromeda had said, “as long as you pair it with self-awareness.”

* * *

Two days later, Rose flooed into Malfoy Manor. If the Black Manor had been tastefully ostentatious, the Malfoy Manor was simply ostentatious. She had a flash of Narcissa wrinkling her nose and saying something about ‘nouveau riche,’ and suddenly understood what she’d meant. If this was what Malfoy Manor looked like _after_ Narcissa had married into the family, she didn’t want to imagine what it’d been like before. For Rose, who’d grown up in the understated, comfortable elegance of Potter Manor, it was jarring. Her heart, beating like a jackrabbit, thumped ever faster, and she could feel memories pressing against her occlumency shields. She reached for her bond with Macha and was rewarded with a pulse of calm.

(the Draught of Peace she’d taken sat bitter on her tongue)

“Welcome to Malfoy Manor, Rose,” Narcissa greeted, smiling gently. Her hand was on Draco Malfoy’s shoulder, Lucius next to her. Rose clung to that image – the three Malfoys, welcoming her into their home, offered a stark enough contrast for her to shore up her occlumency. She swathed herself in her manners and bowed.

“Narcissa,” Rose said. “Lucius.”

She paused. Malfoy the younger hadn’t given her leave to call him by his first name.

“Mr. Malfoy,” she said instead.

“Potter,” Malfoy replied curtly.

“Really,” Narcissa said disapprovingly. “The two of you are practically cousins now. Don’t you think it’s time for you to call each other by your first names?”

It wasn’t a question so much as a demand. They all looked at each other for a moment before Rose spoke.

“It’s a pleasure to see you, Draco,” she said hesitantly.

“And you, Rose,” he replied courteously but just as hesitantly. Narcissa sighed fondly.

“Good enough, I suppose,” she said exasperatedly. There was a flare of flame in the fireplace as first Harry, then Andromeda stepped out.

 _(focus on the eyes,_ Rose told herself. That was where Andromeda and Bellatrix differed)

“I’m afraid our cousin’s husband has fallen ill,” Andromeda said, face completely blank. “Sirius has stayed behind to nurse him.”

“Touching,” Lucius said blandly. There was a loaded moment of silence broken only when Mal – _no, Draco,_ she corrected – spoke.

“May we proceed to the dining room?” he asked, unable to disguise the plaintive note in his voice.

“Of course,” Narcissa said graciously. There was a flash of fondness in her eyes before she looked at Rose.

“Come,” she said.

* * *

It was a pleasant enough dinner, Rose supposed. It was awkward in the beginning, especially between Harry and ~~Mal~~ _Draco,_ but the two found common ground when they both realized they had the same quidditch team. Rose didn’t know why she was surprised – quidditch could be awfully unifying, after all, and didn’t _that_ just spawn ideas in her head?

(but she had far too many schemes she was in the middle of to add another to the mix. She’d tell Harry – he was actually _on_ his House’s quidditch team, after all)

Regardless, once Harry and Draco had begun getting along, the tension had eased considerably. Narcissa and Andromeda went through a rundown on the latest gossip, using it as a guise to exchange information, while Rose and Lucius watched.

(she’d been tortured here, once. Harry had been rude and refused to go to the Malfoys’ preferred sitting room, because that was where Dobby had once died. They’d gone instead to one of the lesser ones, Harry excusing it as being more comfortable)

(he’d been sending her calmness all evening, and she’d been readying her occlumency shields for days in preparation)

(both of them remembered her breakdown in the Chamber)

* * *

_(Cissy, put the other two in the cellar! I think I need a conversation with this one… girl to girl)_

_(look closely, Draco – is it her? Is it Potter?)_

(Hermione’s agonized screams and Dobby’s red, red blood and Ron’s hand in hers as he listened)

* * *

It was useless. _Fudge_ was useless, Rose thought furiously. No, worse than useless. He seemed dead set on putting dementors at Hogwarts, and not even the many members of the Wizengamot who had family there could stop him. Rose thought miserably that she ought to start re-learning the patronus charm, though Remus would at least be around to teach it.

“It doesn’t matter if I’m revealed as a werewolf,” he’d told her. “I don’t want to stay here while you could be in danger.”

“But what about Moonlight?” she’d asked. Several years ago, Remus had begun a rehabilitation program for werewolves. It was a sanctuary of sorts, that provided the Wolfsbane Potion free of cost, along with room and board, while Remus taught wand-free subjects like Potions and Astronomy. Moonlight Sanctuary was on track to become self-sufficient in a decade, and had cut down on the stigma of being a werewolf enormously. It was Remus’ baby.

“I’ve always favored Defence Against the Dark Arts,” he’d told her with a gentle smile. “And the people running Moonlight know what they’re doing.”

 _I’m going to protect you,_ he didn’t say. Rose heard it anyway.

“Thanks, Moony,” she’d told him with a hug. He’d hugged her back tightly and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head.

“Anything,” he’d murmured.

(she still forgot, sometimes, how much he loved her, and it took her breath away every time)

(this Remus hadn’t gone through his adult life impoverished and alone. This Remus had friends, a family, something worth fighting for. This Remus stood with a spine of steel)

* * *

Rose was beginning to feel nervous (lie, she’d always been nervous) about the waves she’d been making. This timeline was now almost completely different – she wondered if the Triwizard tournament would even be held at all next year and, if not, when Voldemort would get his body back. She regretted the loss of her foreknowledge but comforted herself with the knowledge of the many changes she’d made for good. She’d cleared Salazar Slytherin’s name. She’d led to the re-opening of the Hogwarts Common Room and Ritual Rooms. Even if Voldemort came back, Hogwarts would stand united against him (or, at least, more united than they’d been last time). Harry was more popular, more confident, and had an entire team of lawyers breathing down the necks of the press to make sure no one called him a liar. That alone, Rose thought, would make a big difference. They had established presences in their world, had spread beyond Hogwarts, had advocates in the Wizengamot. When Voldemort returned, they’d be better prepared to face him. She was no longer that innocent thirteen-year-old with nothing but two best friends at her side. She had a brother, a family, a powerful family willing to use every resource at its disposal. She had friends and allies whom she could trust. She even…

(she even had a family)

She wasn’t alone.

* * *

A week before term began, they met Hermione and Neville in Diagon Alley. The others were either unavailable (Blaise was in Italy, Daphne in France), or not allowed (Susan said she’d had to owl-order all her supplies this year because her Aunt Amelia was incredibly overprotective; Theo said that seeing as they could still barely maintain a correspondence without arousing his father’s suspicion, he’d better not ask).

“I’m _so excited_ about the new History professor,” Hermione gushed, holding her supplies list to her chest. “Do any of you know who it is?”

“Remus says it’s a woman named Emmeline Vance,” Rose revealed.

“Said she’s a friend of Dumbledore’s,” Harry added.

Hermione wrinkled her nose a little. “Well, at least she sounds better than Professor Binns. I do hope she’s not too biased.”

“Everyone’s biased, Hermione,” Rose said wisely. “What matters is that they acknowledge it.”

“I don’t think Dumbledore would do that,” Neville said quietly. “I mean, he’s been under a lot of scrutiny lately, hasn’t he?”

“Fair enough,” Harry acknowledged. “Now, come on, Nev, before Hermione and Rose run to Flourish and Blotts without us.”

“I’d like to go to Quills & Waterstones too, of course,” Hermione said quickly. Rose grinned at her.

“Of course.”

Hermione beamed.

A few minutes later, they left Harry and Neville to the cage holding the Monster Books of Monsters, Harry explaining to a crying assistant how to stroke the spine to calm them down. It had certainly been a shock when Hagrid had sent him one of the things for their birthday, but thankfully it was a distinctive enough feature of her last life for her to remember.

(the big things, the emotional things, stayed. Minutiae like homework had long since faded into near-obscurity)

“Not taking Care?” Rose asked Hermione.

“Oh, no, I am,” she said hurriedly. “I just… well. They seem a bit busy, don’t they?” She shot a glance at the assistant manning the cage of the Monster Book of Monsters, which Harry and Neville were helping wrangle.

“That they do,” Rose giggled. “Well, come on, then. We’re both in Arithmancy and Divination, aren’t we?”

“Yes,” Hermione nodded. They each grabbed copies of _Numerology and Grammatica._ Rose, feeling smug, thought to herself about how she already had copies of this year’s Ancient Runes textbooks - _A History of Runes: Malaysian Edition_ was one of the many reference texts the course recommended. She was so excited – she’d never been able to try actually applying her knowledge of international runes before, practical runes were incredibly dangerous and best done with the supervision of a Runes Master.

“You’re taking all the courses?” Rose asked faux-casually.

“Yes,” Hermione said defensively. “I’ve worked it out with Professor McGonagall.”

“I’m not judging you,” she said hurriedly. “Just make sure to get enough to eat and sleep, yeah? If you’re going to be spending more time awake, you should be getting more food and rest to compensate.”

Hermione gave her a very suspicious look but agreed. Rose smiled innocently back.

“I’m taking quite a few courses, too, you know,” she said. “Professor Dumbledore gave me special accommodations to make sure I’ve got enough _time_ to do it all.”

Hermione’s eyes widened in realization. _Thank Circe,_ Rose thought ruefully. She might’ve started crying if she’d had to be any more obvious.

“Have you also been given a – you know - ?”

“First time two students in a year have been given one, I think,” Rose whispered conspiratorially. “Of course, I won’t be using it nearly as much as you, but still. I was thinking we could use the Badger Hole for our extra hours…?” Now that they had the Hogwarts Common Room, the Badger Hole rarely got any use.

Hermione’s eyes lit up and she beamed. “Oh, yes! It’d be lovely to have someone else who’s – well. You know,” she added, flushing slightly. Rose winked and grinned.

“I know,” she said.

They found their texts for History of Magic, Rose commenting to an interested Hermione that one of the co-authors of one of their books, _Magical Societies Around the World,_ was Maitri Asan’s wife.

“Maitri Asan?” Hermione repeated, brow furrowing as she tried to remember where she’d heard that name before.

“Parselmouth historian,” Rose supplied. “Harry and I have been helping her translate things at Oxford.”

Hermione lit up. “Oh, yes, Harry told me about that! It sounded ever so interesting,” she said wistfully. Rose grinned.

“You know, as a student of Hogwarts, you ought to be able to send for translated copies once they’re done.”

“Really?!”

“Yeah, the Oxford library is open to us too, we’ve just got to send an application via owl.”

The look in Hermione’s eye made Rose feel very sorry for whatever poor clerk at Oxford Library who’d be handling Hermione’s requests.

* * *

Quills & Waterstones was an unassuming little shop tucked away in a corner of Horizont Alley. All teakwood and oak, there was a quiet elegance to it that Rose admired. The inside was lit with soft yellow witchlights bobbing peacefully overhead, the store itself smelling deeply of ink and parchment. It was filled to the brim with magical versions of muggle school supplies and other items. Rose smiled when she saw the store’s lone employee, a tall witch with bright blue hair cropped at her chin. She was dressed in a mixture of muggle and magical style, with a floor-length black overcoat on top of a muggle t-shirt and jeans.

“Hello, Miss Nelson,” Rose greeted. Ashley Nelson, manager and founder of Quills & Waterstones, smiled back hesitantly.

“I’m sorry,” she said apologetically. “Have we met?”

“It’s Harry and Rose,” Harry supplied helpfully. “We’re under glamours.”

Nelson’s face cleared in an instant.

“Sorry,” Rose said, feeling stupid. “I forgot.”

“Don’t worry,” Nelson said, smiling at them. “And I suppose these are your friends?”

“Yes, Hermione Granger and Neville Longbottom.”

Nelson’s eyes flashed with humor at Hermione’s name.

“Not the Hermione Granger who cleaned out my stock of magical cue cards?” she asked, grinning. Hermione ducked her head and blushed.

“The very same,” Harry snickered. “She’s been chomping at the bit to get down here in person.”

“I’m flattered,” Nelson laughed. “Is there anything in particular you’re looking for?”

“Actually, yes,” Rose said. “Hermione and I wrote to you a few months back about a form of instant written communication, and we were wondering – “

“Oh, yes, of course!” Nelson exclaimed. “Hold on a mo’, I’ve just got to grab them from the back.” She went through a door behind the counter into what was presumably either storage or a workroom, returning minutes later carrying a stack of notebooks. Rose’s heart leaped with excitement at the sight, and next to her, Hermione was practically vibrating.

“These are really just prototypes at the moment,” Nelson warned. “Write back and let me know how they work, alright?”

“Definitely,” Rose beamed. “Thank you so much – how much do we owe you?”

“None of this would’ve been possible without the Lily Potter Foundation. Let me know how they work – that’s payment enough,” Nelson said warmly.

(she felt pleased, when she was told that – this shop wouldn’t have existed if she hadn’t kept Sirius out of Azkaban)

(and her academic life would’ve been much, _much_ more difficult without Nelson’s sticky notes, cue cards, and binder-folio hybrids)

(yet another positive change she’d made, Rose told herself)

They were each given a notebook, charmed to look like a regular parchment notebook. They were made out of a soft, plain black leather with gold trimming. There were a series of gold-lined pages in the front where one could write out conversations with anyone, as long as they put their name at the top. The conversations would fade and transfer to an index at the back of the book, which had infinite pages. There was also a matching silver ring that would heat up very slightly whenever a message was addressed to them specifically. It had needed to be matched to their wand and required some saliva to be matched to their magical signature, but after that the only person who could see the ring would be themselves. It’d need to be re-matched every year since they were so young, but it was incredible nonetheless, and far beyond what she and Hermione could have created. They were also, Nelson reassured them, layered to the hilt with privacy and protection enchantments, and she was willing to make an oath on her magic that neither she nor anyone else would have access to the contents unless explicitly given permission.

Rose snuck a bag of galleons under a shelf anyways.

* * *

After they’d dragged Hermione out of Quills & Waterstones, Rose insisted on going to Sugarplum’s Sweetshop.

“Sugarplum’s was taken over by a half-blood a few years ago,” she told Hermione coaxingly. “They’ve been working on enchantments to embed into the chocolate so it isn’t as bad for your teeth. They’re not all there yet but the groundwork’s there.”

“I know exactly what you’re doing, Rose Potter,” Hermione said, trying to frown disapprovingly. It was bellied by her barely suppressed smile.

“C’mon, Hermione,” Harry said encouragingly, waggling his eyebrows. “You know you want to.”

“You don’t even need to buy anything,” Neville added, grinning. With his new wand, the boy had rocketed up to the top ten students of the year in first year and stayed there in second. He’d told them, with a grin, that his grandmother had been impressed with his grades and had given him more pocket money than usual.

“Oh, alright,” Hermione huffed, but she laughed at Harry’s mock-cheers.

“I need to stock up on chocolate anyways,” Rose sighed.

Neville gave her a curious look. “I would’ve thought you’d sound happier about that. And why would you need to stock up anyways? Aren’t you going to Hogsmeade?”

“I’m afraid dementors’ll come onto the train,” Rose said glumly. “Chocolate helps with the effects.”

“Dementors?” Hermione asked. “The Azkaban guards? Why would they be on the train?”

Harry explained in an undertone as Neville blanched.

“Good idea,” he said fervently. “I’ve heard they’re awful.”

Rose nodded. She couldn’t exactly say something like ‘they are’ – this Rose Potter didn’t even know anyone who’d been near a dementor, let alone in Azkaban.

They trooped into Sugarplum’s and nearly cleared out their supply of chocolate. Rose was, for the thousandth time, grateful for the Undetectable Expansion and Featherlight Charms on her schoolbag – it let her cram in fifty galleons’ worth of chocolate without a problem. The cashier gaped at them, making Harry and Rose exceptionally grateful for the glamour charms Sirius had insisted on. Their debut in the Wizengamot, and more importantly, the passing of their thirteenth birthday, allowed the press to finally print photos of them, although they still needed to be cleared by the Potter and Black lawyers.

In her past life, Remus had given everyone in her compartment some chocolate, but she doubted he’d been able to get to the entire train. Rose planned on taking care of that this time around. After mailing her friends their own notebooks, as well as a brief explanation on how they worked, Rose carefully flipped to a gold-lined page and began to write.

* * *

**_Everyone_ **

_RP: Testing. Testing. Can everyone read this?_

_BZ: Merlin, what kind of magic is this?_

_SB: Yes! This is so cool_

_TN: Does this mean you’ll actually reply to my letters now, Rose?_

_NL: Yes_

_RP: Rude, I always reply to your letters_

_NL: Wait, awful timing, sorry_

_TN: Yes, it only takes you three weeks_

(they’d need to work out a few kinks, but for now, it would do)


	37. Year 3, Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to ses_12345678, who pointed out that my "muggle things catch on fire" explanation had "purebloods were right about everything, muggleborns with their silly innovations just have to learn to accept their place" undertones. I've edited chapter 4 to take that bit out, leaving the "quills are used to for dexterity and the permanence of ink helps with Ancient Runes" reason in place as to why magicals write with quills and parchment. So basically, while there _are_ reasons the magical world has the traditions it does, muggle things catching on fire when exposed to magic isn't one of them. This'll be addressed in more detail next chapter, but I just wanted to let you guys know to help alleviate any confusion in advance! As always, thanks to everyone who reviews, leaves kudos, or bookmarks this fic :)

Her reactions to dementors had, somehow, gotten worse.

The train ride began fine – Remus was patrolling up and down the corridors, introducing himself as the new Defence professor. His robes were well-made and his name well-known enough that he garnered respect even from the staunchest blood purists. They didn’t know he was a werewolf, of course, but most knew that he was an advocate of creature rights and husband of the current Lord Black, for all that he was a half-blood, so they accepted him. She hoped he’d be safe from the Weasley twins – the two had been too in awe of Remus and Sirius to approach them at their birthday party, but maybe they’d gotten over that by now.

Harry and Rose sat crammed into an expanded compartment with their friends. Susan had popped her head in for a quick hello, then bounded off to find Hannah, Ernie, and Justin. Luna and Neville were chatting by the door, Hermione resolutely ignoring them in favor of a conversation with Daphne. Blaise and Theo were pressed up against the windows talking with Harry and Rose, mostly bemoaning the stupidity of the Ministry for putting _dementors_ at a _school._

“They’re some of the foulest creatures to walk the earth,” Theo spat disgustedly. “And where does the Ministry, in their infinite wisdom, decide to put them? Oh, how about at a school filled with the most powerful children in the country!”

“Aunt Andy’s got most of the Wizengamot on her side and even then, Fudge won’t move an inch,” Harry said glumly. “Of all the things to take a stand on…”

Blaise snorted. “Honestly. But enough talk of Ministry incompetence – are you all looking forwards to Hogsmeade?”

Harry grinned. “Definitely. Be nice to not have to owl-order chocolate frogs.”

Rose rolled her eyes. “As if Sirius and Remus don’t send you dozens every month. Honestly, Harry, your sweet tooth’s getting out of hand.”

Harry pouted at her. “As if you’d know what a sweet tooth was, the sweetest things you eat are strawberries!”

“I eat Honeyduke’s dark chocolate,” she said defensively.

“That doesn’t count,” Harry scoffed.

“What do you _mean_ – “

“So, Daphne,” Hermione said loudly, trying to stave off the impending argument. “Your sister’s starting Hogwarts this year, isn’t she?”

Rose fell silent, as did Harry, twin sheepish expressions on their faces.

“Yes,” Daphne said, looking faintly amused. “Astoria. She’ll probably be joining you in Hufflepuff,” she added, looking at Rose.

Blaise snickered. “Yeah, better prepare yourself.”

Daphne smacked his shoulder. “Don’t talk about Astoria like that!”

“It’s true!”

“My objection stands.”

“What, so _you_ can do it but when _I_ – “

Blaise cut himself off as the train slowed. Rose tensed, as did everyone else in their compartment. Their expressions were those of confusion; hers and Harry’s were those of dread. Conversation died down.

“We can’t possibly be there yet,” Hermione murmured. She made to get up.

“Get down,” Harry snapped. Hermione sat, looking hurt, but it dissolved at the worry on Harry’s face. He looked at Rose.

“You don’t think – “

“Aurors, maybe?” Theo said uneasily.

Rose started shivering. The temperature of the air plunged. Several pairs of eyes widened in realization.

“No way,” Blaise breathed. His words puffed out in a cloud of mist. “Not on the train, surely?”

Frost began creeping up the windows, icy tendrils like fingers tapping at the glass. The train shuddered to a stop. Rose tried to cast a warming charm on herself, but it slid off her robes like butter. Dementors didn’t just suck the warmth out of the air – they sucked the magic out too. Grey spells – spells that drew on both ambient and personal magic – became exponentially more difficult. A patronus would be more prudent, being a Dark spell, but despair had already wrapped its hands around her throat. She felt cold, apathetic. What did she care if her soul was sucked out? She hadn’t done much with her life anyway. She was extraneous, the spare, and the spares always, always died.

_(kill the spare)_

Her limbs felt heavy as lead, every breath, every blink an effort. This misery, this hopelessness… she knew it well. She knew how this ended.

The lights went out. The compartment was filled with whispers of _lumos_ until a pale shadow of light finally appeared at the end of Neville’s wand. He looked pale and nervous in the weak, flickering light.

“Remus is on the train,” Harry whispered. “Surely he won’t let them – “

But the door slid open before Harry could finish. Neville’s wandlight wavered, then went out. A dementor stood in the doorway, a cloaked figure towering towards the ceiling. It seemed to fill the whole compartment with its presence. Its face was hidden beneath its tattered hood, but it was looking directly at her. She stared at that endless darkness beneath its hood, and trembled.

“No,” she whispered. She didn’t know who she was saying it to.

 _(not my children,_ Lily pleaded. _Please, take me, kill me instead)_

_(kill the spare)_

_(I KILLED SIRIUS BLACK,_ Bellatrix laughed and laughed and _laughed_ )

“Stop,” Rose begged. “Please stop. I’m sorry.”

(who was she apologizing to? Herself, her old friends, everyone she’d left behind when - ) 

(she was cold, so cold, she was in a lake and trying to dive, trying to find a glint of silver in the darkness, but it was _so cold,_ she’d been down there for so long, she _couldn’t breathe shecouldn’tbreathe - )_

(she was tied up in the graveyard watching - )

_(bone of the father)_

“Remus – someone get Remus!”

_(flesh of the servant)_

(a pain just above her elbow - )

“He’s not here, he’s not – “

(Wormtail’s knife cut into the flesh of her arm and she _screamed - )_

_(blood of the enemy)_

_“Expecto patronum! Expecto patronum! Expecto – expecto – “_

_(at last, the truth)_

_(I am about to die)_

_“Fuck,_ why won’t it let go of her?!”

_(you’ve been so brave)_

“Where’s Remus?!”

_(does it hurt?)_

_“Relashio! Relashio!_ Let _go,_ damnit!”

_(not at all. quicker and easier than falling asleep)_

_“Expecto patronum! Ex-expecto – “_

_(don’t leave me)_

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck – “_

_(never)_

“GET AWAY FROM HER! _EXPECTO PATRONUM!”_

* * *

(she dug the grave with her own hands; Dobby deserved more than the ease of magic. The words she carved into the stone were rough and wobbly and uneven but she thought he’d have appreciated it anyway - )

* * *

_(I was, it seems, mistaken)_

_(you weren’t)_

_(a v a d a k e d a v r a)_

* * *

When she came to, she was wrapped in Remus’ cloak, Harry curled protectively around her, chocolate shoved haphazardly into her mouth. She chewed slowly, tentatively, mind sluggish. The chocolate had melted on her tongue. It was sweet, cloyingly sweet, she didn’t much like it, but warmth spread through her body as she chewed.

“Rosie?” Harry said quietly. He hadn’t called her Rosie in a long time, she thought distantly. Not since… she wasn’t sure. The world existed in shades of grey and so, too, did she. She was staring at her hands. She raised her fingertips to her face and felt wetness.

“What happened?” she whispered. Her memoires were a jumble of past and present, scenes spinning across her eyes. The graveyard, the Chamber, the Forbidden Forest -

“Dementor,” Theo said quietly. She looked up and saw the rest of their compartment staring worriedly at her. Theo was pale and shaken, eyes dark with the sheen of remembered horror. Daphne was clutching a bar of chocolate, knuckles white, Blaise’s hand gripping her knee. Hermione was ashen. Luna was curled into a ball in her seat, and Neville had a fine layer of sweat on his face. 

“It came right for you,” Harry whispered. “I’ve never – Remus – Professor Lupin drove it off, but he said it ignored everyone else and just – just pushed him aside.”

“Oh,” Rose said numbly. “That’s… that’s not normal.” She spoke slowly, her mouth trying to remember how to produce words. Even that small effort drained her, and she slumped back in her seat.

Hermione gave a choked laugh. “No, it’s not. You were staring off into nothing, Rose, we thought – “

“We thought you’d been Kissed,” Theo said quietly. “We… we thought – “ he broke off and looked away, eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

“It’s because you’ve been touched by Death,” Luna said softly, Neville’s arm around her. “They recognize it.”

Harry stiffened. Rose felt she ought to feel something more than a vague alarm, but emotions seemed beyond her. She was so, so tired.

“Luna – “ Harry began.

“That’s not very nice,” Hermione sniffed, but her voice cracked at the end.

“’s al’right,” Rose murmured. “Sorry for worrying you all.”

“Sorry for _worrying – “_ Blaise began, then cut himself off and took a deep breath. His olive face was ashen. “Rose, you stupid martyring Gryffindor, don’t you ever say anything like that again.”

No one, not even the Gryffindors, argued.

“Choc’late in m’bag,” she mumbled, trying to fumble for it.

“Still there,” Harry assured her. “Remus – Professor Lupin – is handing out some of his own. Go to sleep, Rosie, I can feel how tired you are.”

She snuggled against him, Harry’s arm tightening around her, and leaned her head against his shoulder.

“M’kay,” she agreed. She fell asleep instantly.

* * *

(Sirius had been right – dying _was_ quick)

(quicker and easier than falling asleep)

* * *

Rose woke up as Remus was collecting his coat.

“All right, Rose?” he asked, noticing her blinks.

“Fine,” she said blearily. “An’ it’s Miss Potter, Pr’fessor, can’t be showin’ fav’ritism.”

“Professors take an oath,” he said dryly. “No need to worry about any rumours.”

She glared half-heartedly at him, but Remus only smiled innocently.

“I’ll see you all up at the castle,” he said, nodding at her friends. There was a murmur of agreement as he slid the door closed.

“I’m _fine,”_ she emphasized in response to everyone’s wary and uncertain looks.

“She is,” Harry confirmed, his arm still wrapped around her.

Outrageously, everyone seemed to believe him over her and went back to their conversations. Harry returned Rose’s offended look with a smug grin. Only the tension in his eyes betrayed the truth.

“He’ll be teaching the anyone who wants to learn the Patronus Charm in October,” Harry told her in an undertone. “He needs September to get things organized, but he said…”

“Good,” Rose said quietly. “I couldn’t even say the words.”

Harry huffed a laugh. “Me too. We’ll be better next time.”

“What happened to you? Were you…?”

“Not as badly as you,” Harry said. His arm tightened. “Just felt awful and nearly passed out, but you were staring straight ahead and mumbling even after the dementor had gone. Don’t worry about me, Rosie.”

“Not going to happen,” she sighed, leaning back into him. She glanced at her watch. They were almost at Hogwarts.

* * *

It was freezing on the platform, rain driving down in icy sheets. Hermione had forgotten to cast an umbrella charm and she dripped on the carriage until she cast a hasty drying spell on herself with a scowl.

“It’s like I keep forgetting I’m a witch,” she grumbled. “It’s awful, not being allowed to do magic over the summer, I forget all sorts of everyday charms.” Her eyes narrowed at their guilty looks. “What?”

Neville coughed uncomfortably. It was just he, Hermione, Harry, and Rose in the carriage. “Wixen from magical families don’t really… the Trace doesn’t really apply to us.”

Harry and Rose nodded. Hermione looked outraged.

“It’s because we’ve got adult wix around to fix any problems,” Rose said. The last dregs of that horrible, familiar apathy had drained, and she felt as if she’d awoken from some terrible dream. “And we’re not a risk to the Statute. The Trace can’t differentiate between magic cast by an underage wix and an adult one, so as long as there’s an adult around, any magic it picks up on just sort of gets… ignored.”

“But still!” Hermione said. “That’s so unfair!”

“Why did you think I want Hogwarts open during the summer?” Rose asked rhetorically. “We’d be able to take summer courses too; it would’ve been so much easier for Parvati and the others who’d been petrified – “

Hermione frowned. “Well, why don’t they? What’s the problem?”

Harry shrugged. “No one knows, but there haven’t been any recorded instances of students staying on at Hogwarts since the early 1900’s, not even during World War II.”

Hermione looked horrified. “You mean they sent muggleborns back into the Blitz?!”

Neville looked confused. “What’s the Blitz?”

Rose confirmed Hermione’s suspicions as Harry explained. By the end, both had identical expressions of disgust and horror.

“Wait,” Hermione said, eyes narrowing perceptively. “You mean they let students stay over _before_ then?”

Harry and Rose exchanged a look.

“Well, yeah,” Harry shrugged. “But then… er…”

“Dumbledore started teaching,” Rose said bluntly. At Hermione’s offended look, she hurried on. “Look, you can look it up for yourself! 1911, four students stayed over during the summer and there were summer courses. 1912, Dumbledore’s hired as Transfiguration professor. 1915, Hogwarts closed over the summer and has ever since. All the other professors had been there for over five years and actively taught over the summer, but Dumbledore was the only one who didn’t between 1912 and 1915.”

“But why would he do that?” Hermione protested. “It doesn’t make any sense!”

 _Because he puts too much value on the call of family,_ Rose wanted to say.

“I don’t know,” is what she said instead. “I just looked it up. It’s in the first edition of _Hogwarts: A History._ ”

“I’ll double-check,” Hermione said, frowning. “Not that I don’t believe you, but it just seems so…”

“Absurd?” Harry offered. “Unbelievable? Insane?”

Hermione blushed. “Well, yes. All of those things.”

“Gran doesn’t like Dumbledore,” Neville said mildly. “Says he’s a great wizard and all, but too involved in politics to pay much attention to students.”

“You can’t argue with that, Hermione,” Rose said. “He kept a Cerberus on the third floor behind a spell we learned in _first year_.”

Hermione frowned. “Yes, that’s true, I just… I don’t like thinking badly of him. He’s done so many great things, and he’s not a fraud like Lockhart was.”

“I know,” Harry said quietly. “But Occam’s Razor, you know?”

“I know,” she slumped.

* * *

There were dementors on either side of the wrought iron gates. She saw them reach out towards their carriage, but the thestrals sped up and the dementors didn’t leave their positions. The cold passed.

“That’s so weird,” Neville murmured. They sat in silence as the carriage trundled up the long, sloping pathway up to the castle.

* * *

As they hurried into the entrance hall, casting drying charms on their shoes, she heard someone call her name.

“Oi, Potter! Heard you were so scared by the dementors that you _cried._ That true?”

Rose squinted at him, trying to place him. He looked vaguely familiar. What was his name again?

“Making fun of an orphan for crying when she hears her mother’s death?” Rose said mildly. “How crass.” Ah, yes, it was Rosier. She didn’t know how she’d ever forgotten that sneer. She gripped Harry’s arm to keep him from lashing out, Neville doing the same to Hermione.

“Miss Potter? Miss Granger? If you would follow me, please.”

At McGonagall’s voice, Rosier vanished into the crowd, leaving her friends to scowl after him.

Waving a quick goodbye to Harry and Neville, she and Hermione followed Professor McGonagall to her office, where Professor Sprout was waiting. Shaking off the residual chill from the dementors, the two girls exchanged an excited look. They’d both guessed what this meeting would be for. Was it a sort-of bribe from Dumbledore? Most likely. Was Rose still going to take advantage of that? Yes, yes she was.

“Now, I hope you both realize that this is extremely unorthodox,” Professor McGonagall said sternly, peering down at them over her spectacles. “But the Headmaster insisted, and, well, the two of you are some of Hogwarts’ brightest students in decades. I hope the both of you understand what a privilege this is.”

“Yes, Professor,” Rose said respectfully, but could barely conceal her excitement. She’d had to sign a contract months ago with the Department of Mysteries, swearing that she wouldn’t tell anyone without express permission from either her Head of House or Headmaster, so not even Harry knew. He’d guessed, of course, but all she’d been able to say was “I can neither confirm nor deny your accusations,” which had been as good as a confirmation anyways. However, she wasn’t going to be saying that.

Professor Sprout frowned at them. “Now, I want to make it clear that the _moment_ either of you feel the least bit stressed, to come to one of us immediately. Very few students have been able to maintain their courseload past fourth year, and more than one has had a nervous breakdown.”

 _“Not,”_ Professor McGonagall added, with a sidelong glare at Professor Sprout, “that we’re discouraging you from using your time-turners.”

“Of course not,” Professor Sprout said stiffly. Rose eyed both of them sidelong. Clearly, there was internal dissent as to the wisdom of providing thirteen-year-olds the ability to turn back time. Which, Rose supposed, was entirely reasonable. She’d be questioning it too if she weren’t benefiting from it.

They explained the laws governing time travel, most of which Rose already knew from her misadventure in her past life. Their time-turners could only go back eight hours; they got one full hour for every hour of extra class, as well as an additional five hours a week for each additional subject. Hermione, who was taking two extra classes over the maximum of three, would get ten hours; Rose, who was only taking one extra class, would get five. An Unspeakable from the Department of Mysteries came in to give them the time-turners, as well as measure their ages down to the hour. Rose was grateful, again, that it only measured the _physical_ ages, not mental – she wouldn’t want to have to explain anything odd that might crop up, after all. The Unspeakable gave them a rundown on a list of all the terrible things that’ve happened to wixen who’ve messed with time, impressing upon them the importance of _not being seen._

“We’ve managed to arrange classes in such a way that you won’t need to be in multiple classes at once,” Professor McGonagall sniffed. “But _do_ take care not to be seen.”

“We’re planning on using the Badger Hole – er, that is, the study room you set aside for us,” Hermione said eagerly, before blushing hotly.

“’Badger Hole’?” Professor Sprout asked, lips twitching. Even Professor McGonagall had an amused light in her eye.

“It was Theo’s idea,” Rose said, grinning unabashedly. “I don’t know, it’s sort of grown on me.”

The Unspeakable – Rose had no idea who they were, they had their hood up – cleared their throat.

“Well,” Professor McGonagall said, clearing her throat slightly. “I’m pleased that the two of you have already given this some thought – though I must again impress upon you the fact that this is meant to be a _secret.”_

Hermione quailed under Professor McGonagall’s stern gaze, but Rose straightened.

“Headmaster Dumbledore told me Hermione would be getting a time-turner last year,” she said stoutly. “I haven’t broken any rules.”

“She’s right, Minerva,” Professor Sprout said gently. “I was there.”

“Well – in that case – “ Professor McGonagall said, affronted. “I suppose you’d better get going then.”

“Yes, Professor,” Hermione murmured, before tugging Rose none-too-gently out of her office and rounding on her the moment the door had closed.

“You shouldn’t have spoken to Professor McGonagall like that, Rose – “

“Well, she shouldn’t have just _assumed_ – “

“Maybe not,” Hermione admitted grudgingly, “but she’s still a _professor._ You ought to show her some respect.”

“I do,” Rose argued back. “In class, when she’s _earned_ it. You can’t deny that _she_ was rude first.”

“That’s no reason to be rude back,” Hermione frowned as they made their way to the Great Hall.

“Agree to disagree?” Rose proposed. Hermione, still frowning, nonetheless nodded and sighed.

“I still think – “

“We’d better hurry,” Rose interrupted. “I don’t want to miss the Sorting.” Hermione gave her an irritated look but stayed quiet as they hurried to the Great Hall. They split up at the doors, Rose walking over to where she could see Hannah’s bright blonde hair amidst the crowd. The Sorting hadn’t even begun yet, the Hall filled with subdued chatter.

“Evening,” she greeted.

Susan looked at her worriedly. “We heard about what happened on the train. Are you - ?”

“Fine,” Rose said shortly. They got the message and leaned back. “And you?”

“We’re alright,” Justin said quietly. “It sort of just… flew past everyone’s compartments, I think.”

“So that’s how everyone knows,” Rose sighed.

“What do you mean?” Susan asked sharply. “’Everyone’?”

“Rosier,” she supplied, fiddling with her silverware. Each utensil had the Hogwarts coat of arms carved into the end.

“Git,” Hannah said, scowling darkly. “We’ll get him back for you, Rose.”

Rose glanced up, alarmed. “No, don’t – Hannah, he’s a _seventh year._ Besides, I took care of it anyway. Told him how crass it was to make fun of an orphan for crying about hearing her mum’s death.” She gave a ghost of a grin as everyone blanched. “Should’ve seen his face.”

Hannah still scowled. “Good.” She held her fork like she wanted to stab it into someone. Rose and Ernie exchanged wary looks and quickly changed the subject.

“We all agree with Hannah, by the way,” Justin murmured from his spot beside her. “If you ever wanted to… you know. We’ll have your back.”

Rose blinked at him. Justin met her gaze evenly, brown eyes dead serious. She felt a rush of affection for her friend and couldn’t help herself from ruffling his hair.

“Thanks, Justin,” she beamed as Justin yelped and ducked. “I feel better already.”

He scowled at her, but his eyes were laughing. “Prat.”

* * *

That year’s Sorting took forever – and she wasn’t just imagining it, either. The incoming class size was at least double the size of last years’, and there were a truly absurd number of Harry’s and Rose’s. There were also a few surprise Sortings – she wasn’t the only one startled when “Rookwood, Marcellus!” was sorted into Hufflepuff, but she was one of the few who clapped as enthusiastically as she had for everyone else. She saw his face fall and felt a pang.

(incidentally, “Greengrass, Astoria” had gone – or, perhaps more accurately, _skipped –_ to Slytherin, and she’d had the pleasure of seeing Daphne’s mask slip for a split second)

Dumbledore stood up, clearing his throat. The Hall fell silent, listening as he warned them about the dementors and introduced Remus, Hagrid, and Emmeline Vance, the former of whom got a rousing round of applause. Snape, however, had his face twisted with loathing, and Rose felt a prickle of foreboding. The latter got the loudest applause yet – seemed like everyone still appreciated the loss of Binns.

After that, however, Dumbledore gave an announcement that was most certainly not something he’d said in her past life. She glanced up at the High Table for the first time and saw, with a start, _Ted Tonks._

“Furthermore, I have the great pleasure of announcing the re-introduction of Hogwarts’ Wixen Culture class, to be taught every Sunday afternoon by Professor Edward Tonks. Attendance is highly encouraged for all muggle-raised students, though everyone is welcome.”

Rose, staring in shock, practically leapt to her feet with cheers. She couldn’t believe no one had told her about this – had this been Sirius’ idea? He was on the Board of Governors, he had to have known. What about Lucius? Why hadn’t he told her?

When the feast appeared, she began talking very rapidly and eagerly.

“You know the new professor, Rose?” Ernie asked.

“He’s my uncle! Well – Remus is my honorary uncle, and Ted is like my second-uncle-once-removed or something, his wife is my godfather’s proxy on the Wizengamot, I’ve known him since I was little – he’s absolutely brilliant, former Hufflepuff, muggleborn, he’s perfect for teaching that class, I can’t believe he didn’t _tell_ me – “

“Breathe, Rose,” Susan giggled.

Ernie grinned. “Muggleborn and Hufflepuff, eh? Glad they didn’t get some blood purist.”

“I agree,” Rose said fervently. “Oh, I’m so excited, I’ve got to ask him about the syllabus – “ she twisted in her seat to catch Hermione’s eye. They nodded determinedly at each other, needing no words – both of them would be going to Ted's classes. Their argument from before hadn’t been forgotten, but they could both put it aside for now. She went back to her food, reaching eagerly for some roasted carrots, before she saw -

She saw the way the other firsties shied away from Marcellus Rookwood and remembered the lackluster applause he’d received -

(remembered how Dudley had always driven any would-be friends from her)

(remembered the terrible loneliness she’d felt)

(remembered the wishes she’d made for someone, anyone to be her friend - )

\- and stood. Decision made, she excused herself and made her way over.

“Evening, firsties!” she greeted. “Well met; I’m Rose Potter. I’m a third year here at our brilliant House. The prefects’ll give you the spiel later, but I wanted to get to know you.”

Marcellus was the last to speak.

“Marcellus Rookwood. Well met.” He said shyly. “I think you know my big brother, Felix.” Marcellus was a small, slight boy, with big dark eyes and neat brown hair. He was _adorable._

“Your big brother’s in my Ancient Runes class,” she told him. “He’s absolutely brilliant at the subject.”

Marcellus brightened. “I know! He talks about you all the time, says you’re annoying – “ he cut himself off, blushing hotly. Rose grinned at him. Oh Merlin, he was _so cute,_ how did Rookwood not hug him all the bloody time? Marcellus fidgeted with a napkin, then seemed to remember himself and stilled his hands.

“He’s not wrong,” she admitted freely, grinning at the wide-eyed stares the other firsties were giving her. Annaliese Marks was still looking a bit star-struck. Harry Crouch – distant nephew of Barty Crouch Senior – looked somewhere between astonished and appalled. “I freely admit to badgering Rookwood until he finally agreed to talk to me. He was a very good sport about it though, all things considered,” she added. 

A few firsties giggled nervously. Rose gave them all a warm smile. “I really hope you like it here. We Hufflepuffs are accepting of students of all backgrounds. I myself went to muggle primary for a few years, so I know the culture shock can be pretty intimidating, but feel free to come to any of us if you ever have any questions, alright?”

A few students mumbled their assent. Rose beamed. “Well, everyone, pleasure having you in our House. Hope you like it here!” And with that, she slipped away and plopped back into her seat beside Justin, who was giving her an amused look.

“That was decent of you,” he said. In the corner of her eye, she saw Annaliese Marks pull Marcellus into tentative conversation, the boy brightening as he spoke. She saw the darkness recede from his eyes and hid a satisfied smile.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Rose grinned. “Pass the mashed potatoes, would you?”

“I think little Rookwood’s developing a bit of a crush,” Justin observed. Rose glanced at Marcellus just in time to see him look away, blushing vividly. Beside him, Annaliese Marks giggled, and he elbowed her.

“Oh, no,” she sighed. “You really think so? His brother’s going to slaughter me.”

“It was going to happen eventually,” Justin consoled. “You’re far too friendly to everyone, surely you must be used to this?”

Rose wrinkled her nose. “Used to it? This is the first time it’s happened; how can I be used to it?”

Across from her, Ernie snorted. “Funny,” he said. At her confused look, the amusement transformed into horror. “You _are_ joking, yes? Surely not even _you_ can be that oblivious?” he asked.

She flicked a pea at him. “Shut up and explain, Ernie.”

He tossed a carrot in retaliation. Before it could devolve into a full-out food fight, Cedric cleared his throat, leaning over.

“Let’s set a good example for the firsties, shall we?” he asked, but his eyes glittered with amusement. There was a silver P badge on his chest. Rose gasped.

“Congratulations, Cedric!” she squealed. “Prefect, really?”

He squinted at her. “You sound surprised.”

She blinked back innocently. “Do I?”

Cedric’s face split into a grin. “You’re a menace, Rose Potter.”

“Ooh, full name,” Susan giggled. “Watch out, Rose, he might give you a detention!”

“Cedric wouldn’t dare,” she retorted. “We’re friends, aren’t we, Ced?” she asked, batting her eyelashes at him. Cedric rolled his eyes.

“Friends,” he said flatly. “If you insist. Anyway, glad to see you’re all okay,” he said, skittering away back to his friends.

* * *

She cornered Remus and Ted after the feast, but only had time to give them each a hug, a ‘good luck’, and, in Ted’s case, a friendly punch, before she had to run to the Hufflepuff dorms. There were barely any Hufflepuff professors – this would be an excellent change.

(perhaps the other Houses would see them as more than duffers, now)

* * *

(she was right – when she called Sirius over the mirror last night, he’d laughed out loud at the expression on her face.

“Don’t be so hard on Lucy,” he’d grinned. “I convinced him not to tell you.”

“Lucy – you mean _Lucius Malfoy?”_

“Yeah, it’s what I used to call him when he and Narcissa were engaged.”

 _Before I ran away,_ was left unsaid.

“And he _listened?”_

“Well, I _am_ Lord Black and your legal guardian.”

“… you bastard.”

“I assure you, my parents – “)


	38. Year 3, Part 2

“Fuck,” Rose said blankly.

“Language, Potter,” Rookwood chided. She glared at him half-heartedly.

“Just realized I have NEWTs this year,” she grumbled. Well, technically only one, but still.

 _“We_ have NEWTs this year,” he corrected, pulling out a parchment notebook. Rose zeroed in on it immediately.

“Is that from Quills & Waterstones?” she asked excitedly.

“Yes,” Rookwood sighed, exasperated. “Parkinson’s my cousin. She told me about them.”

“Dead useful, aren’t they?” Rose enthused, grinning broadly.

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t look so smug, Potter, even _I_ can recognize the utility of muggle inventions.”

She said nothing, only grinned.

They both fell silent as Professor Babbling came in. Rose was nearly vibrating with excitement. Rookwood kicked her.

“We’ll be really delving into integration this year,” Professor Babbling said cheerfully. “And we’ll be learning the basics of more runic systems – you’ll need to know the seven main languages for your NEWT – “ she paused and laughed at the dread on everyone’s faces.

“Oh, don’t look like that! I have every confidence in you all, you’ll all be fine. We’ll spend this month reviewing Futhark, Anglo-Saxon Futhorc, Ancient Chinese dialects, Ancient Egyptian, Ancient Sumerian, and Ancient Greek. We’ll cover Old Malay this September and spend the rest of the year on integration. Don’t worry – you will still be receiving academic-grade Memory Potions at the beginning of every class, as usual.” She winked, then distributed the vials with a flick of her wand.

Rose downed the gold memory-enhancing concoction in one swallow, shuddering at the slimy taste. She kept a few vials in her bag, but it went bad quickly and was a sixth-year brew, so she didn’t make it very often. Its existence was part of why Hogwarts required so many essays – it prevented the simple regurgitation of information that one could do on worksheets and such. They were all used to the taste after using it to learn so many languages. Rose was only grateful it only enhanced memory, not comprehension – they’d only need it until they began integration.

She felt a thrill of excitement go through her when she looked down at her old, familiar copy of the reference books. She set the empty vial into a little wooden hole at the corner of her desk, where it promptly vanished.

“Now, if you would flip to page 5 of _A History of Runes: Malaysian Edition._ Ancient Malay dates back to prehistoric times, spoken by early Austronesian settlers in the region. By the 7th century, however, a combination of Dravidian vocabulary and the influence of major Indian religions such as Hinduism and Buddhism turned Ancient Malay into what is now known as Old Malay. We will be covering Pallava script in this course, which Old Malay is written in –“ Professor Babbling paused as Jasmine Gallagher raised her hand.

“Yes, Miss Gallagher?”

“Professor, why are we covering Old Malay?” Gallagher asked. “Wouldn’t Ancient Malay be better, since the age of a runic system is correlated with its power?” Professor Babbling smiled at the other girl.

“Excellent question,” she said. “Can anyone answer?”

Tentatively, Rose raised her hand. She’d practically memorized _A History of Runes_ , after all. If she remembered correctly, the information Gallagher was looking for was in the footnotes. She caught Professor Babbling’s eye as the professor smiled fondly at her.

“Miss Potter?”

“Ancient Malay was a spoken language,” Rose said. “So, while it may be more powerful than Old Malay, its casting system didn’t include runic work as we define it.”

“Precisely,” Professor Babbling smiled. “Two points to Hufflepuff for an excellent answer, and another two to Ravenclaw for an excellent question. Now, as I was saying, Old Malay has been greatly influenced by Sanskrit scriptures…”

* * *

“That was _brilliant,”_ Rose said breathlessly.

“It looked like you’d memorized the reference book,” Rookwood said dryly.

“I practically have,” Rose bounced, too happy to take heed of her friend’s unenthusiastic response. “It’s one of my favorite books.”

“Merlin, Potter,” Rookwood said, looking amused. “You sure you aren’t a Ravenclaw?”

Rose beamed happily up at him, almost skipping. “Positive. I just really like runes.”

“Clearly.”

“Are we going to the Hogwarts Common Room?”

He gave her a look. “You know perfectly well where we’re going, Potter.”

She grinned back. “Your brother’s adorable.”

He snorted. “You know he’s got a crush on you?”

“It’s been brought to my attention,” she said, wrinkling her nose. He grinned and they walked in silence for a while. Rose was reminded of a very grouchy teddy bear.

“Thanks,” he said abruptly. “For looking out for him.”

She glanced up at him. “It’s no trouble. I’ve got Slytherin friends, I know how people look down on them because of their surname.”

“I’ve noticed. Still on your little crusade, are you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Rookwood.”

“Of course you don’t.”

* * *

The Hogwarts Common Room had truly become a part of the school. It was no longer a recent addition – it simply was. The house elves had taken to laying bowls of chocolate and fruit and other snacks on the low coffee tables, and the rest of the room seemed to have become an informal study hall. The first-year students didn’t seem to give a rat’s arse about Houses, Slytherins sitting with Hufflepuffs playing exploding snap with Gryffindors. It was a room where anyone could be friends with anyone else and get barely a second glance. However, it still drew double takes when Felix Rookwood towered over a huddle of firsties of all blood statuses and Houses, allowing them to pester him with questions with admirable patience.

“Stop smiling like that,” Harry muttered, elbowing her discreetly. “You’ll give people the wrong impression.”

Rose tore her eyes away from the scene and scowled.

“It’s not my fault the Rookwood siblings are so adorable.”

“And don’t say things like that either,” Harry said, rolling his eyes. “Then people will _really_ get the wrong idea.”

“They’re just friends, Harry. Marcellus is barely an acquaintance.”

“You think that matters to the rumour mill?”

She made a face. “Fair point.”

Across from her, Lisa giggled.

“They _are_ rather cute though,” she agreed, twisting around to glance at them. “Bit like teddy bears, aren’t they?”

“See, Lisa understands me,” Rose sighed, then turned back to her Transfiguration essay.

Once upon a time, she would’ve complained about the uselessness of learning how to turn a teapot into a tortoise. Now, she could see their gradual deviation into transfiguring more and more dissimilar items, as well as their crossing the animate-inanimate boundary. The spell itself was unimportant – it was the training of her mind and magic that really mattered. For all she understood its necessity, however, it didn’t make writing five feet on the theory any less boring.

* * *

Arithmancy was the least popular elective at Hogwarts. There was only one third-year class and it had all of fifteen students, mostly Ravenclaws and Slytherins. Just as Hermione and Harry were the only Gryffindors, Rose and Justin were the only Hufflepuffs. 

It was a shame – Arithmancy was dead useful and terribly interesting. It was, essentially, the mathematics of spell-crafting. Wand movements were broken down into runes, incantations into syllables, and every number had its meaning. Just as seven was the most magically powerful number, eight was the most magically stable number. The infinity number, of creation and new beginnings, coming on the heels of power.

They were given a test at the beginning to evaluate their overall mathematic ability, as muggle-raised students usually had an edge over magically-raised ones in this class. Justin, who’d gone to a math- and science-intensive primary, and Hermione, who was Hermione, scored best, followed closely by Padma. Rose, who’d been in the top three students of every class, even Ancient Runes, immediately resolved to study more. Rose had gotten rather attached to her class standing.

(she had no intention of dying young again)

Soon, it was time for Charms with the Hufflepuffs, wherein Flitwick just asked them to demonstrate a series of charms they’d learned last year. It wasn’t, Rose thought guiltily, nearly as interesting as Arithmancy.

After that, they headed down to the Great Hall for lunch. Rose caught a glimpse of Neville’s forlorn face and made her way straight for him. Susan followed.

“Who do I need to hex?” Rose said with no introduction, sitting down across from Neville.

“Trelawney,” Harry said promptly over Hermione’s sputters.

“Excellent, it’d be easy to make it look like an accident.”

“No one’s hexing anybody!” Hermione burst out.

“She upset Neville,” Rose said simply. She didn’t have Divination until tomorrow, and she hadn’t been _planning_ on doing anything to Trelawney, but now…

“What happened?” Susan asked worriedly.

“I’m going to die,” he said quietly. “There was a Grim in my cup.”

Hermione instantly turned the full force of her glare onto Neville, who quailed. “No, you’re not,” she said fiercely. “You heard Professor McGonagall – Divination’s a very imprecise branch of magic and she does it every year.”

Overhearing this, Fred laughed from his place a few feet down the table. “Yeah, she saw the Grim in my cup two years ago, and I’m still fine, aren’t I?”

Rose remembered, with a chill, that Fred would (had once) died in four years. Did Trelawney…? _No_ , she told herself firmly. _No, everyone dies_. That was part of why Divination is so woolly – it was vague and imprecise, and many things could be twisted to interpret its meanings.

“Don’t worry, Neville,” Rose said firmly. “You’re not going to die.”

_Not if I can help it._

* * *

That night, with Susan deeply asleep, she called for Death for the first time.

Harry’s injury had been too quick, too sudden, her mind had been filled with thoughts of staying by his bedside that left no room for anything else. His death was never an option, not really. Her own… well, she’d always been a bit of a martyr at heart; she wasn’t afraid to die, only afraid of what that might do to the people she left behind.

(she’d never been afraid to die)

But Neville… the threat of Neville’s death was slow. She could prepare, plan, subvert it.

(Neville had always been more Harry’s friend than hers, but Harry _was_ her and she would protect everything he held dear)

She layered silencing charms on silencing charms on privacy wards until she was half-depleted with magic and even then, she’d never tried it before so who knew if it’d even work?

She had to try, though. For Neville.

(for Harry)

“Death,” she said, pushing away that thought in the back of her head that whispered _this is absurd._

The shadows condensed into being before her. Death peered at her with those fathomless eyes, dark and black and empty. His face curled into a slow smile.

“You called?” His voice was silky and deep, like dark chocolate you didn’t realize was poisoned until you bit down and felt the burning spread through your limbs.

(good thing she had a bezoar in her bag)

“What do I have to do to push back Neville’s death?”

“’Push back’?” Death asked. There was amusement tucked away in a corner of his mouth, the smile twisting into something crueler.

“I am Death,” he said. “Not Fate. I do not control when or how you die; I can only choose where to send you once you are in my domain.”

She stared at him. “So, there’s nothing I can do?”

“Nothing that you are not already doing,” he corrected. There was something almost gentle in his expression.

“Prepare,” she said. “Plan. Subvert.”

“Prepare, plan, subvert,” he agreed. “That is all any of us can do.”

“Not you. You’re Death.”

“And I have no power over the living, which is all my Masters care for.”

She couldn’t help but feel like she’d disappointed him.

“I’m sorry.”

Death dissolved with a tilt of his head, leaving only the faint hum of her silencing charms in the air.

Prepare. Plan. Subvert.

She could do that.

(she was already doing that)

* * *

**_Everyone_ **

_RP: Is everyone available for a meeting at the Badger Hole today after lunch? I have an idea I want to share_

* * *

“I’ve been thinking that we ought to step up our training,” Rose said. “What with Pettigrew running about.”

“I agree,” Neville said quietly. She suspected that he guessed his recent death prediction was behind some of her fervor, but said nothing, for which she was grateful. 

“I think it’s been demonstrated that Hogwarts isn’t safe,” she said. “What with You-Know-Who, memories of You-Know-Who, and now Peter bloody Pettigrew, we ought to be working to defend ourselves more than we already are. The Defence club was good, but I want something more intense.”

“Like over the summer,” Harry said. She looked at him and saw the agreement pass between them. She knew he’d been itching to do something too – he’d been practicing his patronus every moment he got, but he also missed the rigorous intensity of the training Sirius had put them through over the summer. He’d been in the middle of his Auror re-certification and taught them what he’d remembered of strategies, honed their reflexes and taught them to create their own luck even when outmatched and outnumbered. Their group had been slacking off on dueling practice – they’d had to abandon it during the Chamber debacle, and after that it had never really resumed with any regularity. Rose thought it was time to change that.

(this time around, none of her friends were going to die)

“None of you have to come,” she told them. “But Harry and I are going to be doing something far more rigorous than anything we’ve ever done. We both have excess energy we need to work off, and until Professor Lupin starts his patronus training, and maybe even after that, we need an outlet. So, I wanted to let you know, and invite you, if you’re interested.”

“I’m in,” Neville said determinedly.

“Me too,” Theo said. There were still people – friends, acquaintances, even family like Sirius – who questioned the truth of Theo’s friendship. If only they could see him now, with determination in every line of his face, they would take back every word.

(they were not their parents)

“And me,” Susan said.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione said miserably. “I just – I’m really busy, and – “

“It’s alright,” Rose said immediately, trying to soften her demeanor. She was acting too much like… like…

 _(like a general,_ a voice inside her whispered)

“Not everyone’s the dueling type,” she continued, trying to turn herself back from ‘general’ into ‘friend.’ It was a difficult transition. “Hermione, you have other strengths. You too,” Rose added, looking at Blaise and Daphne, who’s expressions were as uncertain as they would allow.

“As long as you can defend yourself,” Harry said quietly. “We’re not forcing you into anything. We’re your friends, not your…”

(commanders)

(masters)

(was this how the Death Eaters had begun? A group of friends, trying to better themselves, to better protect themselves from the shadows that lurked beyond the walls of Hogwarts?)

“How about Sunday morning?” Rose proposed.

A murmur of agreement, and the plan was set in motion.

* * *

After that, however, Rose had had to run to get to Divination on time. Susan had rolled her eyes, as had Daphne, but Blaise had spoken up for her, which she’d appreciated. She ran to the North Tower alone, grateful as ever for the memories of her past life. Downing an Invigoration Draft, she used the last burst of energy to climb into Trelawney’s familiar classroom. It was as stifling and attic-like as ever.

Wrinkling her nose at the heavy scent of incense, she tried to smile as she took a seat next to Hannah. She sank uncomfortably into a pouf, shifting and adjusting her robes.

 _How unprofessional,_ she thought disapprovingly, then remembered whose classroom she was in. Rose was tempted to cast the Bubblehead Charm – at least then she’d be free of the cloying smell of too-strong incense.

“Welcome,” she heard Professor Trelawney say. “How nice to see you in the physical world at last.”

Their professor moved into the firelight. The classroom was absent of witchlights – the firelit lamps cast a flickering glow over the room, something Rose had forgotten was supremely irritating. Divination might be more than just nonsense, but that was no excuse for how attic-like and old-fashioned this classroom was. She appreciated the value of tradition, but not when it got in the way of her learning. Rose scowled, only half-paying attention to Trelawney’s speech. Really, how could she have let Dumbledore talk her into this?

 _Oh, yes,_ she thought glumly. _I wanted to keep him away from Harry. And Divination turned out to have something of substance after all._

Rose sighed, rising along with everyone else to get a teacup. When she and Hannah had their teacups filled, they went back to their table. Rose was about to sip at her tea when -

“Hot!” Hannah yelped, sticking out her tongue and reaching for her wand.

“No cooling charms,” Professor Trelawney said airily from across the room. “Lest it cloud the Inner Eye.”

“I suppose external magic _would_ interfere with the passive magic of our auras,” Rose sighed absentmindedly, trying to parse Trelawney’s nonsense. She opened _Unfogging the Future_ and turned to the section on tasseomancy. Trelawney might be a fraud, but that didn’t mean the book was, right?

“Wha’?” Hannah asked, tongue still out. Rose glanced up.

“What?”

“What was that bit you said, about external magic and auras?” Justin translated, leaning over from an adjacent table. “I thought Divination was just an easy O. I mean, you can’t _really_ know the future, can you?”

Rose, waiting for her tea to cool, gave a brief summary of what Professor Dumbledore had told her last year. “So,” she finished, “it wouldn’t work for muggles, but for wixen, it really _can_ give us an idea of what’s in the future.”

“Probability, huh?” Justin said, examining his cup of tea with new interest. “Sounds almost like Arithmancy.”

“Well, it _is_ the mathematics of magic,” Rose pointed out. “It makes sense the two’d be connected.”

“I suppose,” Justin said. “So, this class _won’t_ be an easy O, then?” he asked disappointedly.

Rose giggled, thinking back on her and Ron’s absurd Divination assignments. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”

“Broaden your minds, my dears, and allow your eyes to see past the mundane!” Professor Trelawney cried. She caught Justin’s eye and they shared a grin.

Rose tried to pull herself together, skimming her textbook.

“Right,” she said. “You’ve got to hold the teacup while it cools – “ hurriedly, she reached for her pink-patterned cup, seeing Hannah doing the same across from her. “And think of a specific question while drinking. Leave half an inch of liquid at the bottom, swirl the cup counterclockwise three times, drain remaining tea by placing up upside down in the saucer, then turn the cup eight times, I suppose because eight is the most magically stable number,” she said to herself. Really, Divination had far more in common with Arithmancy than she’d thought – the magical properties of these numbers were _all_ Arithmancy.

She and Hannah followed the instructions, swapping cups once the tea had drained. She peered into Hannah’s cup.

“An angel… good news related to love.” Rose waggled her eyebrows at Hannah, who turned bright red.

“Rose!”

“That’s what the cup says,” she giggled. “A butterfly… success and happiness.”

“Not a word,” Hannah growled. Rose grinned.

“A dragon… significant changes in your life. I don’t know, Han, the signs are all very clear to me – “

Hannah made a frustrated noise over Justin’s snickers.

“Oh, hush,” Hannah scolded, pulling Rose’s cup towards her. “Let’s do you, Rose. Hmm… Hourglass, that’s… approaching danger. The club… an attack. The bear… protector. So, I suppose you’ll be attacked… or someone close to you will be attacked… but you’ll have a protector… or you’ll _be_ the protector?”

“Well, I was thinking of dementors,” Rose lied, “so I suppose that makes sense.”

Hannah frowned, checking her textbook. “… That’s already happened, hasn’t it?”

“I suppose,” Rose agreed neutrally. “C’mon, let’s try again – I’ll think of something happier this time, how’s that?”

* * *

**_Hermione Granger_ **

_RP: Turn back to noon and meet in the RoR? I’ll bring food._

_HG: RoR?_

_RP: Room of Requirement, sorry_

_HG: Not to worry. See you then!_

* * *

After Divination, Rose excused herself to go to the bathroom and turned back three hours, pulling the invisibility cloak over herself as she made her way to the kitchens. She felt a pang of sympathy for Hermione, who was frantically learning the Notice-Me-Not Charm. Their magic _still_ wasn’t controlled enough yet to manage a Disillusionment Charm, so she was extremely thankful for the cloak.

“Hello, Mimsy,” she beamed, pushing open the door to the kitchens and greeting her favorite Hogwarts house elf. “How’s your cat doing? Futhark’s looking more and more like her mum every day.”

“She is doing well, Miss Rosie!” Mimsy squeaked. “What can Mimsy be doing for yous today?”

“Well, I was wondering if I could trouble you for a spot of dinner – er, lunch, I suppose,” Rose corrected. “Seeing as, you know – “

Rose gestured to the golden chain around her neck, which had a Notice-Me-Not on it. Professor McGonagall had stiffly given them the location of the kitchens so they could have easier access to food, and Rose had had to trod on Hermione’s foot to keep her from blurting out that she already knew. The staff, including house elves, apparently all knew about their ‘special circumstances,’ and would be happy to make accommodations for them.

Five minutes later, Rose was stepping out of the kitchens and making her way to the seventh floor under the invisibility cloak. She wondered, absently, if she’d done something to upset Mimsy, since she hadn’t been given her usual strawberries, but supposed Mimsy had just forgotten. She _had_ arrived just after the lunch rush, after all.

Ten days later, Harry, Susan, Neville, Theo, and Rose found themselves in the Room of Requirement, in the dueling room with the mirrors and dummies (she’d stolen the idea from Zabini Manor).

They practiced, first honing their accuracy and reflexes against inanimate objects, then against each other. They worked, then, on refining the spells they already knew how to cast, learning how to use them creatively. A tongue-tying jinx to prevent the caster from yelling out spells. A _stupefy_ followed by _diffindo_ to take down an enemy and make sure they stay down. Rose brewed Burn Paste and Bruise Cure and bought enormous bottles of murtlap essence. She steered Madam Pomphrey’s teachings into battlefield and spellfire wounds. She suspected Madam Pomphrey knew, but she still submitted to her weekly check-ins, so Madam Pomphrey gave her nothing but knowledge. Sometimes the Matron looked at her with a glint of sadness in her eyes, but then Rose asked about how to heal a burn that Burn Paste couldn’t and they moved on.

She didn’t know if she wanted to be a Healer. Fighting was like falling back into an old skin, like putting on a coat she’d once worn every day, creased with wear and familiarity.

(healing was like taking off that skin, putting on a new one, stiff with disuse but oddly nice all the same)

When they’d exhausted their creativity, they began learning silent spells.

By Yule, they could all cast a silent _expelliarmus_ , could cast it quickly and efficiently to hold off an enemy while they escape and run and get help. Rose had gotten _diffindo_ and _flipendo_ down as well.

(because the ultimate goal was survival, not revenge)

* * *

But that was later. For now, they met in the Room of Requirement in the first week of September and stumbled out two hours later panting and sweating, agreeing to move their meetings to Sunday evenings because Merlin, all they wanted right now was to sleep. Rose was so tired that it took several frantic messages from Hermione before she remembered that Ted – _Professor Tonks,_ she amended – would be teaching his culture class at 2 o’clock. She downed in Invigoration Draft and scribbled a grateful reply to Hermione before setting off.

* * *

The Magical Culture classes took place in a cavern-like room that’d been used for weapons training when Hogwarts had first been built. Deep within the dungeons, it was half the size of the Great Hall. No place other than the dungeons would allow for such an expansive use of space – space-enhancing charms hadn’t been invented yet. Witchlights glowed above them like so many stars, constellations spilling over the ceiling in a replica of the night sky. The formerly empty room had been filled with rows upon rows of tables and chairs, all turned to face the blackboard at the front of the class. There, Ted – Professor Tonks – stood, leaning casually against his oaken desk. He wore a black day robe over muggle clothes, a pair of brown leather shoes peeking out beneath well-worn jeans. It was a blatant proclamation of his blood status – only muggleborns and muggle-raised wore muggle attire, though he’d deviated from the norm by choosing to wear wixen shoes, not common trainers.

Rose slid into a spot between Hermione and Justin, flashing Hermione another grateful look.

“Have I missed anything?” she whispered.

“Nah,” Justin said absentmindedly as he rummaged through his bookbag. “He hasn’t even called roll yet.” Retrieving a quill and parchment notebook, he straightened in his seat.

“Brill,” Rose said. She glanced around the room, pushing down her shock. The room held nearly a third of the school, most of whom she recognized. There was Liam Willis, a seventh-year Hufflepuff in her Ancient Runes class. There was Katelyn Garrison, a Slytherin with a garden snake familiar. There was Martin Lee, a firstie who was roommates with Marcellus Rookwood. Apart from her, there wasn’t a single wixen-raised student. She supposed it’d been a bit much to hope for, but Rose was disappointed nonetheless. She’d wanted to use this class to invite a discussion of magical tradition, but it seemed like she’d need to organize that in her own time. She put it out of her mind when ~~Ted~~ Professor Tonks pushed off of the desk and stood.

“Right,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “First, let me introduce myself. My name’s Ted Tonks, and I’ll be your Wixen Culture professor this year. I graduated Hogwarts myself ‘round thirty years or so. Married Andromeda Black, who filled in my knowledge gaps about the magical world. I’ll be filling that role for you – I’m a muggleborn myself, so I’ve got a pretty good idea of what we ought to know.

“I’ve got two rules for these classes. One: tolerance. Even if you don’t agree with what I or anyone else might say, either keep it to yourself or be polite. Don’t insult or make fun of anyone’s beliefs, or I’ll have you in detention ‘til summer, understand?”

Eyes wide, they nodded. From the corner of her eye, she saw Hermione straighten.

“Excellent,” he said. “Rule two: none of this ‘Professor Tonks’ nonsense. It’s either ‘Ted’ or ‘sir,’ got it? Don’t make me feel older than I already am,” he said sternly. There were a few scattered giggles, and Ted grinned.

“Let’s get on with the lesson, then, shall we? Today’s more of an introduction to the course. We’ll be covering Hogwarts and everyday items for students today, since it’s most relevant, but next week we’ll branch out into everyday items in the average magical household, from cooking to transportation. By the end of October, we’ll cover religion in the magical world, with an overview of magical beings and creatures by the winter holidays. I’ll be teaching you about the international magical community as well. A more detailed plan is on the syllabus – “ and here Ted distributed a stack of parchment with a wave of his wand “- but enough waffling.

“When I first went to Hogwarts,” Ted began, “I thought I’d gone back to the dark ages. I couldn’t believe I’d need to use quills and parchment, instead of pencil and paper.”

There was a faint murmur of agreement from the crowd. Ted grinned ruefully.

“Turns out,” he said, “there’s actually a reason for it – it helps you with precision, which I’m sure you all know is critical with a wand. It’s easier to enchant, since it’s relatively unaltered. And for those of you taking Ancient Runes, I’m sure Bathsheda has already told you about how the permanence of ink makes it a good medium for rudimentary runework. That’s why you get marks taken off your homework if you hand in anything else, but I’ll let you in on a secret – just because your homework needs to be done with a quill and parchment doesn’t mean your notes have to be. During my sixth year, I started making notes on pen and paper which, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, is _far_ faster. Precision and dexterity matter less once you’re older and you’ve cast a spell enough times.”

Rose listened avidly, even though she’d known all of it already. It really _was_ fascinating to see it from another point of view; she felt a pang of empathy for Hermione, who was still taking Muggle Studies.

“On page 13 of _An Introduction to the Wizarding World_ , you’ll be able to find guidelines for writing with a quill, as well as an overview of the various enchanted quills that already exist. Keep in mind that…”

And thus, the hour-long lesson continued. Ted continuously emphasized the need to think of the magical world as a separate country, with its own traditions and history, instead of an extension of the muggle world. After quills and parchment, he directed them to a spell list in _An Introduction to the Wizarding World,_ pointing out useful personal hygiene spells that could be done in a pinch.

That evening, the Culture class was all anyone could talk about. Even later, as they retired to the Hogwarts Common Room, the muggle-raised were still exclaiming excitedly over bits of information the magically-raised already knew. They endured it fondly, if a bit sadly – many of them hadn’t realized how difficult it was to acquire information that “everyone knew”. They’d either never questioned it or they’d asked their parents, a trove of information that the muggle-raised didn’t often have.

Rose could see perceptions changing. Suddenly, the magical world was no longer inferior, no longer backwards – just different, with its own advantages and disadvantages. Magicals could learn from muggles, but so could muggles from magicals.

* * *

She’d given the Weasley twins another fifty galleons. Innovation was expensive, especially secret innovation, and honestly her trust vault was so absurdly full she didn’t have much else to spend it on. She’d amused herself by buying extravagant gifts for her friends, but many of them were rich enough to buy the things themselves, so she often had to resort to hunting down rare Herbology tomes (in the case of Neville) or ultra-personalized things (in the case of Blaise). As she funded the twins, she wondered if this was how Sirius had felt, funding businesses like Quills & Waterstones. It was incredible to see the creation she’d had a hand in bringing to life – the smallest possible touch, yes, but nonetheless.

She began reaching out more towards the younger years, spreading her influence like so many vines. She offered book titles and advice, dispensed her wide smiles like sweets but reserved the smaller, gentler ones as gifts. She’d fallen out of practice, these past few months, riding the high of the Chamber and vanquishing of Binns. Maintaining popularity and a good reputation took work, and she could not afford to be idle.

(if history repeated itself, Voldemort would rise in a mere year)

She’d neglected Ginny Weasley during the Chamber debacle, and only recently noticed how she’d found friends in Colin Creevey, Selena Spinnet, and Luna. Rose made sure to start dropping by, asking how she was doing, making sure she was alright. Sometimes she felt Sprout’s narrow-eyed gaze on her back and knew she was setting herself up to be a prefect.

 _Good,_ she thought. _More influence._

She’d never been a prefect in her past life, not with Hermione by her side and Voldemort in her head, but now? Now she was a model student, a schoolwide name not just famous but loved. She was the perfect choice, the obvious choice.

She helped Ginny take the lead in her own yeargroup, suggesting study groups offhandedly and watching with barely concealed glee as Ginny invited students from across House boundaries. Fraser Wilkerson of Hufflepuff, Peter Marks of Ravenclaw, Kelly Carpenter of Slytherin. There weren’t any Death Eater names, not yet, but children of families across the political spectrum flocked to the study group whose academic achievements hadn’t gone unnoticed.

And, as Rose had learned, study groups were one of the best ways to make friends.

(was this what Dumbledore had felt like, in her past life? Nudging her this way and that, dropping a series of breadcrumbs until she walked to the end all on her own)

(but she wasn’t leading anyone to their deaths, she was building friendships and tearing down prejudice)

(surely the ends justified the means?)


	39. Year 3, Part 3

Rose strode through the halls of Hogwarts with purpose, her robes swirling behind her in a satisfying way. Her bag, full to the bursting with library books, seemed to sigh with relief when she slammed it onto the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, its seams at last relaxing.

“The Goblin Rebellion of 873 _was_ unjustified,” Rose declared, plopping down across from Blaise. “And I have proof.”

Beside her, Theo groaned dramatically and made a point of putting up privacy charms. Rose didn’t care. She pulled out _Goblins: Friend or Foe? A Study of Goblin Culture_ by Alberic Hawkings and slid it across the table to Blaise, whose eyes had narrowed in outrage at her bold proclamation.

“There,” she said, with a flourish, “Hawkings states that goblin culture is a bloodthirsty one, which is part of why there’ve been so many rebellions – “

“We’ve also been at war with them essentially since we met,” Blaise pointed out.

“Yes, of course, but that’s only been a part of it – some rebellions have had perfectly reasonable beginnings, but the 873 one isn’t one of them. Did you know that a goblin who’s killed an enemy is more respected? Chief Gornuck’s son was killed in an honor duel – he needed to regain status in the eyes of his allies, and what better way to do that than by mounting the heads of wixen upon his wall?”

“The rise in wand ownership can’t have helped either. Wands were better foci than staffs, so we must’ve been seen as a greater threat.”

“And therefore, it would’ve been a greater honor to kill one,” Rose shot back.

Blaise frowned. “You have good points, but I’m still not sure if I’m totally convinced.”

“Well,” Rose said, “we’ve got a competent History teacher, haven’t we?”

Blaise’s eyes lit up. Rose suspected he had a bit of a crush on Professor Vance. “Yes, let’s ask. We can also ask about the Giant War of 1382 – “

“Which had absolutely nothing to do with the dragon pox epidemic – “

(maybe she was exaggerating, just a little, but bantering with Blaise was just so _fun)_

* * *

(as it turned out, using the term ‘unjustified’ depended on the side of the conflict one was looking at – while unjustified from the wix’s point of view, it was entirely justified from the goblins)

(this, _this_ was why Rose loved history so much. It was so nuanced, so subjective, such a good reminder that heroes and villains depended solely on perspective)

(Voldemort had been a hero for the Dark, in the beginning. And then he’d gone mad, become a tyrant, and was no one’s hero but sadists’, now)

* * *

Rose was careful to keep note of how many hours she’d turned back each week in her journal, writing out everything in messy, butchered Hindi as a rudimentary form of privacy. She spent most of her repeated hours with Hermione in either the Badger Hole or Room of Requirement, but was still careful to beg off an hour here or there until, by late September, she’d accumulated enough hours to disappear into the Chamber.

She and Harry had discussed this – they needed to be careful how often they went down there, for they didn’t know how closely Dumbledore was keeping an eye on them. That was how Rose came to be sneaking out of the Hufflepuff common room at 1 o’clock in the morning under the cloak, calling Harry over the mirror when she made it to Gryffindor Tower.

“I’m outside,” she whispered. “C’mon.”

Her brother joined her under the cloak, and together they hurried to the seventh floor. Before they began pacing, however, they ducked into an alcove.

“1:17,” Rose whispered, scribbling it down in her journal. “Three turns.”

She pulled the chain over Harry’s neck, and turned the hourglass over three times.

The world dissolved. Rose had the sensation that she was flying very fast, backward. It was a now familiar sensation, but she could tell that Harry had yelped in shock. It echoed oddly as they moved backwards in time, and by the time the ground solidified beneath her feet, she was laughing.

“Shut up,” Harry whispered furiously. “You didn’t tell me it was so _weird – “_

“It’s _time travel,_ Harry, what did you expect – “

Harry gasped and clamped a hand over her mouth. Rose fell silent as, outside, she heard a voice.

“What was that?”

It was Filch. She liked to think of their acquaintance as non-antagonistic, but she wasn’t sure of the strength of his goodwill yet. Best to hide until he was more fond of her.

“Who’s there?”

Close – too close – she heard Mrs. Norris meow.

 _“Odora celare,”_ Rose breathed. The scent-muffling spell diffused from her wand in a stream of magic, wrapping itself around her and Harry like a shield. They both watched with baited breath as Filch’s lantern bobbed out of sight.

“Quick,” Harry hissed. They bolted, running around the corner, stopping at the blank stretch of wall across the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. They paced – ran, more like – with hearts pounding in their ears.

_I need a way to the Chamber of Secrets only Harry and Rose Potter can see._

_I need a way to the Chamber of Secrets only Harry and Rose Potter can see._

_I need a way to the Chamber of Secrets only Harry and Rose Potter can see._

_(and the Carrows can’t get in?)_

_(no. You’ve got to ask for exactly what you need, close the loopholes,_ Seamus told her, face bloody and bruised and - )

On the third pass, a door melted into existence. It was an old, oaken door, the wood smooth and worn with age. She pulled it open on silent hinges and shut it quickly, letting out a sigh of relief.

“Silencing charms, next time,” Rose said grimly.

“Yeah,” Harry breathed, pressing a hand to his chest. “Merlin, that just took years off my life…”

“Thank Circe for the cloak,” Rose said fervently.

They hurried down the spiral staircase the door had revealed, heartbeats gradually slowing. The deeper underground she went, paradoxically, the more she relaxed. Parselmagic hung heavy in the air, the darkness embracing her like an old friend. Their steps echoed as they walked, softening charms having worn off.

(she’d never been afraid of the dark, living in a cupboard. She’d grown up in darkness and solitude; it was her birthright)

Suddenly, the stairs flattened beneath her as if with a _glisseo_ and they fell, letting out short yelps of shock. Distracted by her melancholy, Rose just had the presence of mind to call out an _“arresto momentum”_ before they were deposited unceremoniously onto a bed of bones, which would’ve been considerably more alarming had the bones not been those of rodents and other small animals. She heard the distinctive _he-he-he_ sound of snakeish laughter and scowled.

 _$That was a dirty trick, Regina$_ Harry said, making a face.

 _$But oh so funny$_ Regina hissed, looking pleased with herself. She’d grown over the summer, eating bugs and other small things from the Forbidden Forest. Her scales were a bright, acid green, and she was around a foot long. Her eyelids had slid closed to protect them from her gaze.

Rose left Harry and Regina to their banter – the two were surprisingly tuned to each other; she suspected a budding familiar bond – as she walked over to Salazar’s library and books on Parselmagic. She’d been itching to devour them since she and Harry had found them, but they’d been afraid to draw attention, first from whomever was opening the Chamber, and then Dumbledore, so they hadn’t been back here since March.

She ventured into the library, breathing in the familiar smell of old tomes and preservation magic. The room was pleasantly warm, as was the rest of the Chamber, warmth emanating from the same dark stone the dungeons were built of. There were empty spaces on the dark wood shelves where histories and autobiographies had once stood, and though it’d gotten them an in at Oxford and with a world-renowned Parselmouth historian, Rose still felt a pang of loss. If only there was a way to make permanent copies of a book.

She went through the books and tomes one by one, cataloguing everything in an English-locked dictaquill she’d set on the desk, next to the stone tablet. Many – most, in fact – were written in Latin, with a few in Old English as well. She knew rudimentary Latin – it was a dead language only in the muggle world, after all – but her Old English was nonexistent, so she mournfully set those particular books aside. Translation spells, like the _geminio_ charm, didn’t work well on books such as these that’d been marinating in magic. Fortunately, there were some texts penned by Slytherin himself, if the Parselscript was anything to go by, so she began with those first. The one she grabbed first seemed to be a journal of sorts, detailing Slytherin’s experiments and tests.

_$Spells cast in Parseltongue, I have found, require more power but allow greater control than those cast in human tongues. It draws strength from both ambient magic and caster, making it Grey, though magical expenditure is lower at night, especially underground and near sources of water. This is perhaps due to Parseltongue’s roots as the language of nagas, a now-extinct race of magical beings from whom all Parselmouths are descended._

_$Rowena and I have been experimenting with what I will henceforth refer to as ‘Parselmagic,’ trying to ascertain its limitations, especially with regards to warding. Parselmagic wards can only be taken down by another Parselmouth, making them both strong and weak. For instance, the intent-based offensive wards in the Slytherin common room may be removed with a single command by a resident Parselmouth… $_

* * *

It caused her acute physical pain to have to put off her readings until later – she’d filled half a notebook with questions and things to research – but it was nearly one o’clock in the morning and she was exhausted. She waved a goodbye to Regina, escorted Harry back to Gryffindor Tower, and collapsed into bed at two and slept for seven hours. She slept deeply, dreamlessly, and stumbled out of bed to down an Invigoration Draft. Rose had the sinking feeling that she’d be doing so all too often.

It was getting increasingly difficult to find time alone. Between her classes and homework, nearly all her daylight hours were well and truly taken. She didn’t want to take Invigoration Drafts _too_ often – they were a pain to brew, and she couldn’t exactly go to Madam Pomphrey and explain her predicament. When she explained her conundrum to Harry through the mirrors, he looked at her like she was an idiot.

“Just owl-order some,” he said, like it was obvious.

… Alright, it was maybe a little obvious. Rose felt like a Troll-level idiot.

(she couldn’t survive on Invigoration Drafts alone, of course. The lack of sleep would start to compound over time, wrecking havoc on her memory and immune system, so Rose estimated that the most she could do was one sleepless night every two weeks. The time-turner would afford her an additional night around once every month, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly enough)

* * *

There was a lightness in Rose’s step as she and Luna walked through the forest. It was a rare warm day in early October, the rays of the afternoon sun setting alight the world of red and yellow and orange. Rose had Macha, now three feet long, sunning herself languidly over her shoulders. Beside her, Luna hummed an odd little tune. It was discordant, but the contentedness the other girl exuded lent it a melody the notes themselves didn’t have. Here, in the brilliant warmth of the sun, leaves crunching beneath her feet, the dementors seemed far away. 

The thestrals emerged from the edges of the clearing as she and Luna arrived, moving forwards on soundless hooved feet. Rose set down the bucket she’d been levitating with a flick of her wand, and Luna smiled at them in greeting.

“Hello, Miamusasia,” Luna said softly, reaching out to a female thestral. The first few times, Rose had gotten thestrals confused with each other, but over time they began to separate into distinct entities in her mind. Luna was the one who named them, but Rose knew them all the same. Miamusasia, not to be confused with Miasamusia, was shy and gentle, much like Luna. Miasamusia, who seemed to have a fondness for Rose, was swift-footed and energetic, even now nudging her shoulder affectionately as Rose fed her by hand. She watched the bloodied meat disappear behind rows of sharp teeth and wondered why she wasn’t more afraid.

“Because you know she’d never hurt you,” Luna said softly.

“Did I say that out loud?” Rose asked, turning her head a little.

“No,” Luna smiled. “You didn’t have to. She won’t turn on you, Rose. None of them would; they’re Death’s creatures, aren’t they?”

Rose went still. She gave a light laugh, trying for nonchalance, but the bottom seemed to have fallen from her stomach. All of a sudden, she felt cold. 

“What do you mean, Death’s creatures?” she asked. “I thought no one knew where thestrals came from.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Luna said solemnly. “Don’t worry.”

It was stupid of her to ignore how Luna could possibly have known. No one but her family knew about Rose’s connection to Death, and for good reason. If it got out that Death was real, then it would only take a bit of digging to locate the modern descendants of the Peverells, of whom only the Potters and Voldemort were still alive. It would pin targets on her and Harry’s backs, even larger than those they had already, because a great many people feared death and would be willing to kill or steal for a cloak that supposedly hid its wearer from it.

It was stupid, but Rose couldn’t help but trust the owl-like Ravenclaw next to her and took her at her word.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Luna smiled. 


End file.
